Faces & Façades
by La Notte
Summary: A story about Kitty, the fourth Bennet sister, who has been known to cause trouble wherever she goes, and is now supposed to solve the problems behind the flawless façade of Pemberley. Will she manage to find her own purpose in life while taking care of others? And is it really that important for a woman to get married? Rated T for occasional language.
1. Lydia's shadow

**Faces & Façades**

_A Pride & Prejudice fanfic I wrote for university. Now, one year later, I suppose it's time to share it with the public._

* * *

**~ 1 ~ Lydia's shadow**

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman not in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a husband.

Another truth is that a woman of that kind will never find a husband if she is not allowed to look for one. Detention is even worse when combined with the inability to show off anything said woman could be proud of, simply because she fails to have anything but a serious deal of clumsiness.

Ever since I could remember, I've been disappearing in the crushing presence of my four sisters. Well, maybe not disappearing, exactly, but I haven't been able to shine either. Everyone in town would constantly talk about my eldest sister Jane's beauty, or how smart and witty Elizabeth is. Neither of them had an easy life to begin with, yet still, their virtues eventually paid off.

Three years ago, Jane, aged twenty-three back then, got married to Charles Bingley, a rather wealthy and handsome gentleman who lives in Netherfield, not far from Longbourn, where my family resides. In that same year, Elizabeth, two years younger than Jane, married Fitzwilliam Darcy, an even wealthier and handsomer friend of Bingley's. One might say the two of them were just lucky. Others might say they didn't get where they are today for nothing.

It's not that I hate them – I love all my sisters. But sometimes I envy them a little bit. I'm not half as beautiful as Jane, not half as intelligent as Elizabeth, not half as self-confident as my younger sister Lydia, and not half as willing to accept that lack of favourable traits as my other sister Mary. I'm just Kitty, or Kitty-Cat, or Catherine or whatever they feel like calling me, but I've never had the change to be more than that. It's always been this way – I'm "Just Kitty". And sometimes I'm no more than "the fourth Bennet sister".

Who would want that? What kind of man in his right mind would choose to marry a woman who is neither pretty nor smart, and doesn't have anything else to offer? It's not like I want to live a life like Lydia. She may seem quite happy judging by her letters which detail her "fairytale" everyday life with her husband – yes, Lydia is two years younger than me and was the first to marry, how embarrassing is that? –, but I've learned to read between the lines and to see through her façade. She dropped me like a hot potato the moment she decided to elope with George Wickham, but before that, I had been her best friend for long enough to know her and understand what she really means by "Everything is alright". It means that her husband was not as drunk last night as the night before when he returned home from gambling away all his money with some of his shady friends.

There was a little, but noticeable soft spot on the last letter I received, which looked like it had been wet at some point. I suppose it's where the one tear she could not hold back landed at the time she wrote the letter. My sister may be everything, but she's definitely not happy.

Lydia's problem is, in a way, also my problem, or more precisely, _she_ is my problem. The immoral lifestyle she engaged in with Wickham was an enormous disgrace to our family that only a forced early wedding could set right. Well, kind of. Despite all the time that has passed since then, my father as well as most of my sisters are still upset with her, which in the long run means they're upset with me too. Why? Because they think that I, if given the right opportunity, would fare no better than her. And sometimes I fear they might actually be right.

I've been living in Lydia's shadow for much more than just those few years since she has officially become Mrs Wickham. We got up to a lot of silly nonsense together when we were younger, and more often than not, she was the driving force. I acknowledge in hindsight that I never had a life, or even an opinion of my own until I was nearly eighteen – that's when she got married and moved out for good. In order to prevent me from shaming my family like she had, my father basically grounded me, threatening to never let me go out again until I prove myself able to spend at least ten minutes a day doing something useful.

I don't know if I will ever be able to please him. If only I was like Mary! She doesn't even feel the need to go out. It's the simple things that make her happy: Put her in a random room with a book full of dull stories consisting mainly of foreign words that no normal human being under normal circumstances would enjoy reading, and she will be busy for a good portion of the day. Sometimes, when she is extremely fascinated with whatever she's reading, you can even draw lines on her face with makeup or do silly things with her hair – she won't complain as long as you don't take her glasses off, and she never looks into the mirror anyway, so why not?

It's quite funny, actually. Unfortunately, though, painting my sister's face doesn't exactly qualify as "doing something useful" by my father's definition. And ever since Lydia is gone, I've been officially promoted to "the girl who causes problems".

If Mary is ever worried about her future, she doesn't let it show. While I wouldn't understand a single word of her books if she gave them to me, she can't understand why I worry so much. The only two sisters left after the others' weddings, Mary and I got quite close in the course of time, and although she's a woman of few words, we've talked to each other more over the last three years than in our entire lives before, and I especially remember one long conversation we had two weeks before I left Longbourn to see Elizabeth.

What triggered the event was a letter from Lady Lucas containing an invitation to her second eldest daughter's wedding. The eldest, Charlotte, was already married to our cousin William Collins, and no one, really, _no one_ envies her that husband. But the second eldest, Maria, is about my age, and that was the problem.

"When will you ever stop making a face as if you had read an unsatisfying book just because someone is going to get married?" Mary asked me that evening.

At first I didn't know what to say. Mary knew about my internal struggles, there was no need to explain anything.

"How can you be so indifferent?" I asked in return. "Aren't you ever afraid that you might end up as an embittered spinster with no money, no husband and no children and no life?"

Mary didn't even look up from her book when she replied: "If that's how you define life, and if I were you, then yes, I would probably be afraid."

"What is life to you, then?" I demanded.

"Life is what you make of it," she said. "I enjoy reading books in the garden, playing the piano and singing, among other things."

"You can't even sing," I argued, knowing I was right. Our mother begged her once to stop singing aloud, stating that listening to that any longer would "put her nerves in danger".

"I don't care," she explained. "If that's what makes me happy, I'm going to continue doing it anyway."

The way she spoke without even looking at me got me slightly irritated with her. Once more I felt like a little child being taught the most essential life lessons for the umpteenth time, as unable to understand them as ever. And now my apparent stupidity was starting to annoy even Mary. She had never been the most patient of my sisters, though.

"That's easy to say for someone as... withdrawn as you. If only I could find pleasure in reading, I would do it all day."

"If you find pleasure in something else instead, why don't you do_ that _all day?"

"Because it would involve being allowed to leave the house. And another person."

Finally, she lifted her head to look at me and casually asked me the one question I'd never asked myself before. "Kitty, do you even _want_ to marry?"

At first the question seemed stupid and out of place. "Of course! Mother says it's what we need. A single woman can't..."

"No," she stopped me, that being a first, given that she never interrupts other people because she considers it impolite. "I wasn't asking if you think you need it. I was asking if you _want_ it."

It was the moment I realised, although for no more than a short second, that what I _need_ and what I _want_ might not necessarily be the same. Did I _want_ to get married back then? I didn't know. Do I want it now? I still don't know.

But there's always that terrible feeling that I'm missing something very important in my life, and I can't shake it off. Sometimes Mary's answers to questions regarding life are too simple. Whether she only desires the finest of men she will never get, or she's just a closeted lesbian or entirely happy on her own, I don't know. But there's no way she can ignore – although she seems to think so – that one day, she will need someone to support her. Where will she live? What will she eat? How will she get hold of the money she needs in order to buy her precious books? It's the reason Charlotte Lucas married William Collins: A woman needs a roof over her head and something to eat on the table.

I didn't get the chance to confront Mary about these facts that evening because she suddenly came up with a brilliant idea I hadn't even thought of – mainly because I would never have considered it possible. My father could forbid me to see any unmarried specimens of the masculine gender, but he could not forbid me to see my sister. I hadn't seen Elizabeth in ages.

"I'm going to spend way too much time with a married couple," I argued, afraid that I might get envious of my sister for her happiness. Because if Lydia's relationship with Wickham is Hell on Earth, Elizabeth's marriage with Darcy must be Heaven.

"But that way you won't have to attend Maria's wedding, and I'm sure you'll benefit from a change of scene as well," was Mary's more logical objection.

Things were discussed with my parents, letters were sent to Pemberley, and soon Elizabeth replied that she and her husband would be happy to accommodate me for some time. The fact that "some time" was going to coincide with a specific wedding didn't bother my father, who thought a wedding was an event to meet new people, and that's just what he _didn't_ want me to do. As for my mother, being the woman she is, I successfully relied on her inability to notice the elephant in the room.

And now, barely two weeks later, I'm sitting in the carriage, travelling alone for the first time in my life, on my way to Pemberley.


	2. The girl who causes problems

**~ 2 ~ The girl who causes problems**

I have taken no books with me, knowing myself and knowing I won't read them anyway. Instead, I brought my sewing kit. Sewing is pretty much the only thing I'm (something close to) good at.

Yesterday I began to sew a scarf for Elizabeth, a present for my dear sister for taking me out of my misery for some time. It's getting colder, the leafs are beginning to fall, so she'll need it.

As I watch the beautiful castle slowly appearing on the horizon, surrounded by trees and a lake sparkling in the setting sun, I get a feeling that Mary was right. Suddenly, I'm so happy to be here! And I'm even happier when I see Elizabeth coming out of the house to greet me, graceful and light-footed as ever, closely followed by her husband, still as grim, yet handsome as I remember him, and a few servants. Mrs Reynolds, the only one of the landlord's servants that I know the name of, looks a little pale today.

The scarf is just ready by the time the carriage comes to a halt. I hang on to it when I get out because I want to give it to Elizabeth at once.

"Kitty! You're earlier than I expected."

Her remark causes me to pause next to one of the horses. Not quite the greeting I was hoping for. It makes me self-conscious. Is she unhappy about my early arrival? Was she enjoying her last hours of freedom before she was going to have to put up with her annoying little sister, and I just ruined it?

But I don't have time to think about whether or not this makes sense, when I notice another figure by the door. I turn my head slightly to look at the woman in the shadow of the pillars supporting the canopy, she takes a step forward – and when a reddish beam of light touches her stern, wrinkled face, I recognise her at once.

"Lady de Bourgh?" The sudden realisation makes me jump – literally.

I don't know how I managed to sting that poor horse in the butt with my sewing needle, but the next thing I notice is that it starts neighing like crazy. Elizabeth is by my side in no time to drag me out of the path of the horse gone wild, but then the carriage takes a sharp turn and sends one of my little suitcases flying into my sister's face, successfully knocking her out. The carter desperately tries to calm the horses while they run furiously towards the lake. When he does find a way to make them stop, it happens so suddenly that the poor man is flung out of his seat and lands in the cold water.

Some of the servants are already on their way to help him, the rest and Darcy are tending to my unconscious sister, and all I can do is stand there and watch in horror while Lady de Bourgh remains still by the door, acting as if it wasn't her fault that all of this happened. Is it necessary to mention that I don't remember her as a nice person in particular?

"Well, well." Darcy is the first to speak after what seems to me like an eternity of agonising embarrassment. "The girl who causes problems has now officially arrived at Pemberley."

That's when I start praying. I didn't expect Darcy to know the nickname my family gave me, and now all servants of Pemberley know it as well. But unfortunately, God doesn't answer my prayer to open up the earth under my feet and let it swallow me, so I guess I'll have to endure it.

Lady de Bourgh still hasn't moved, nor did she say anything. I've heard from various sources that she has become a quiet and apathetic woman since her daughter died of her sickness some time ago, but I think the true reason for her silence is that she just doesn't see any point in lecturing me – in her eyes, I'm a hopeless case anyway. But at least Elizabeth seems to slowly regain consciousness. She doesn't look too bad, but there's a small cut on her forehead that has started bleeding.

"Oh Lizzie, I'm so sorry!" I apologise. "Hold on..."

I get on my knees, well aware of, but not caring about the rain-soaked grass soiling my dress, and use the scarf, which was actually meant to serve a different purpose, to tape up her wound.

"I'm sorry, so sorry!" I repeat countless times, and the servants seem to be just as worried – although I swear one of them has a rather amused grin on his face –, but Elizabeth shoos them away, saying she's okay, and gets up with the aid of Darcy.

I don't even dare to touch her anymore, fearing that I might accidentally step on her foot while trying to approach her, scratch her eyes out with my fingernails, or break her nose just by giving it a wry look.

"It's okay, Kitty, it could have been worse," she assures me. "But from now on I will only travel with you by my side. If our carriage ever happens to be attacked, your suitcases make for some really dangerous missiles."

Finally, the servants can laugh again. They're all laughing now, everyone but me and Lady de Bourgh, whose first name, by the way, is the same as mine: Catherine. But that's where the list of our similarities ends. I wonder what she's doing here. She is not exactly Elizabeth's friend either.

After receiving new, dry clothes and being exposed to my flood of apologies for half an hour, the carter gets back on his carriage and leaves, refusing Darcy's offer to stay for dinner. I prefer not to ask why, and so it's just me, my sister, her husband and his aunt, Lady de Bourgh.

Since Elizabeth was expecting me to arrive later, she told her cooks not to prepare dinner till late in the evening, which is probably why she was so surprised to see me that much earlier, and now we have to wait. My first assumption was wrong, it's not because of _me_, I try to tell myself. Yes, my early arrival might have messed up the schedule, but that's it. She isn't actually unhappy about seeing me earlier. Or at least she wasn't until she got mistreated by my suitcase. Or until I almost smashed an expensive-looking Ming vase on the way to the dining room when the food was finally ready.

"Say, Lizzie," I whisper at the dining table when Darcy and Lady de Bourgh are deep in their own conversation. "You won't write a letter to our family, telling them that I knocked you out and then almost ruined your furnishing within five minutes of being here, will you?"

"Of course not! But you've always been a little prone to accidents, we're used to it, so I don't think anyone at home would make a fuss about it."

"Yes, but I'm afraid that someone else might... Your husband and his aunt have never been particularly fond of our family." I glimpse at the two on the other side of the table. "And I have a bad feeling that I'm not helping it at the moment."

"Oh, you're worrying too much! My husband didn't have any objections against you coming here." I notice that Elizabeth sounds slightly uncomfortable saying that, but then she continues in a soothing voice: "And Lady de Bourgh decided to visit even though she knew there would be more than just one Bennet sister. So stop thinking you're the root of all evil. There are more urgent matters at hand right now than your clumsiness."

"And what are those matters, if I don't mind my asking?"

I don't get the chance to find out if she minds or not because we're interrupted by Lady de Bourgh. I know from my short previous experiences with Her Ladyship that she doesn't consider it impolite to interrupt other people's conversations as long as she's the one doing it, and some things just never change.

"Elizabeth, my dear..." Did she really just say _my dear_ to my sister? "The last time I came here, we talked about family planning. Any news on that?"

And there it is again: the rudeness. Apparently Lady Catherine's silence and lack of discrimination upon my arrival was nothing but a façade, and now she's beginning to let her true colours show again. Seriously, family planning is something between husband and wife! If she turns to me next and asks me when I'm finally going to get married, I swear the next time a solid object flies through the room into someone's face will not be an accident.

But first it's my sister's turn to answer an inappropriate question.

"Well..." She hesitates, her gaze meets Darcy's for a split second before returning to Lady de Bourgh. It's not like her to be at a loss for words. "We're not sure yet. There is a lot going on at the moment..."

"You're not working, are you?" Lady de Bourgh assumes. "Then what makes you say that? You're still young, Elizabeth. You should use the time you have to give birth to as many children as you can. Believe me, family is the most important thing in life. Sooner or later you'll understand."

This time I'm the one who is dumbfounded. Family is the most important thing in life? I thought Her Ladyship was more interested in her social reputation. But maybe the loss of her daughter has changed some of her views.

Elizabeth just nods, acknowledging the advice, obviously not so keen on pushing the topic any further. I wonder if that's what she meant by "more urgent matters".

"You know," Darcy then says to his aunt, "my wife is still a bookworm. I rarely see her without a book, because whenever she's not reading one, she goes to the theatre or finds other ways to educate herself. She doesn't even have time for a child."

"And my husband still doesn't like little children. He thinks they cry too much and get dirty all the time," Elizabeth adds, speaking to Lady de Bourgh, but looking at Darcy and giving him an amused yet somewhat cheeky smile when she continues. "One might get the impression that he skipped his own childhood and came to this world as the adult man he is now."

Elizabeth and Darcy still use every opportunity to tease each other in a playful way. It has been this way since before they got married.

"I see you still haven't moved on from your old prejudices," Darcy retorts. "The time when I didn't like children has long passed. But I would rather not bring mine into the world just to have them starve to death waiting to be fed because their mother has once again forgotten the world thanks to some exciting book."

That was kind of mean... But at least he is smiling, and so is Elizabeth.

"It wouldn't be a problem if the mother could rely on the father's support whenever she herself is busy with other matters."

"But if those other matters such as books and other inanimate objects become more important than children, a couple should reconsider their priorities before having them."

Well, Darcy must be joking. He prefers intelligent women to those who are after enjoyment only, which is why he has always valued my sister's love of books. There is only so much a woman can do to educate herself these days.

"I suggest we change the subject," Elizabeth says, now looking at Lady de Bourgh, her smile still there, but not quite as honest anymore.

"I see this is going nowhere. So you're probably right." Lady de Bourgh turns her gaze in my direction. I quickly shove some food in my mouth so I have an excuse for not speaking at once, just in case she asks me something I have to think about before answering.

"Kitty!" she says, surprising me once again because I wouldn't have expected her to use my nickname. On second thought, however, I can imagine two reasons for that: Either she's too proud to acknowledge that a clumsy, unworthy girl like me has the same first name as Her Ladyship, or she simply doesn't know my real name because she has never bothered to ask for it while Elizabeth and Darcy keep calling me their own names they made up for me.

Now that I think of it, if she was a little less intelligent, she might even assume "The girl who causes problems" to be my second name.

"What are your hobbies?" she demands. "Do you enjoy reading like your sister?"

"Not so much," I admit.

She raises an eyebrow as if my answer was impolite or absolutely impossible, but doesn't dismiss me just yet. What a pity. "What about the theatre, or the opera?"

"There's no such thing where I live."

"Are you gifted in music?"

"No."

"Do you play cards, chess, or any other games?"

"No," I say again, starting to feel insecure.

"What about horse-riding?"

I chuckle without humour. "Haven't you seen what happens when I get too close to a horse?"

"Then you must enjoy helping your servants with the housework," Lady de Bourgh concludes. "I take it you're good at cooking and cleaning and washing, that kind of thing."

Too embarrassed to speak any more, I just shake my head.

"But if you don't have any hobbies and don't do anything for the household either, how exactly do you spend your free time? It must be rather boring."

"Well, I..." I begin, but then stop because I don't know what to say.

Finally, Elizabeth steps in to save me. "Kitty is still trying to find her purpose in life."

But Her Ladyship's piercing glance rests on me and she keeps on asking questions. "How old are you?"

All I can do is sigh, and she immediately goes on: "You cannot be older than twenty, there's no need to be ashamed."

"I'm not yet twenty-one."

She frowns, her gaze quickly flashing back and forth between me and my sister who is smiling again. What's that? Does she think I'm lying? It's not a lie. My birthday is in October, whereas now it's only mid-September, and as long as I'm still officially twenty years old, I am going to enjoy my youth and every minute of it and not make myself even one day older.

Besides, I think it's quite embarrassing for a woman at my age to not have found her "purpose in life", or a husband at least. I guess Elizabeth and Jane were in a similar situation three years ago, but at least they had their superior intellect and stunning beauty, respectively. What about me, what do I have? Troubles with myself. And Lady de Bourgh only just confirmed that others take them just as seriously as I do. I hate to admit it, but she's perfectly right.

After that shameful cross-examination, I can't wait for dinner time to be over. Lady de Bourgh doesn't ask me any more questions, but her presence alone, coupled with her knowledge of my uselessness, is enough to make me feel uncomfortable. Why is she here anyway? I still don't get it, and apparently no one cares to explain.

My mood turns from uncomfortable to downright miserable by the time I'm finally allowed to go to sleep. After saying "Good night" to everyone, I retreat to my room, where Elizabeth's servants have taken my belongings. It's a neat, spacious bedroom with a perfect view on the lake that is now beautifully reflecting the pale moonlight, but looking at it only reminds me of how I treated the carter to an involuntary swim in exchange for him taking me all the way to Pemberley. No, looking at the lake is definitely not the best idea at the moment.

But I'm not even tired yet. I suppose it's because I slept a lot on the journey. And so I decide to take my sewing kit – one of my suitcases is filled with nothing but needles, pieces of cloth and patterns I drew one long, boring afternoon at home – and start with the blouse I've been having in mind for the last few days.


	3. A poltergeist at Pemberley

**~ 3 ~ A poltergeist at Pemberley**

As I wake up in the middle of the night, I realise that I have fallen asleep over the left sleeve of the blouse I was sewing. The candles are still burning, but the moon has disappeared behind a few clouds and the night is now pitch-dark.

I have a feeling that I didn't wake up on my own. It's more like something disturbed my sleep, like a noise perhaps, but I'm not complaining. I just had a weird dream of a horse poking me with a needle and I'm not missing it. Hoping that I will dream of something more enjoyable for the rest of the night, I put my sewing kit away, get up to put on my nightgown and blow out the candles. Halfway through, however, there's a strange sound – I stop to listen, the sound occurs again and now I think I know what woke me up in the first place.

I turn to look at where the strange noise came from. It sounded like a dog scratching at the door on the other side. But that's impossible. Apart from a few horses in the backyard, Elizabeth and her husband don't have any pets – or do they? There it is again, and now I'm sure. Someone or something is scratching at the door, and it has to be a dog. A human would knock, right?

Making sure there are no needles or other potentially dangerous objects lying about in my room, I make my way to the door to let the dog in. If the animal is so curious about meeting me, how could I say no? The scratching doesn't stop until I reach the door, but all I see when I open it is a dark corridor. A dark, _empty_ corridor.

"Hello?" I ask, not really expecting an answer and not getting one either. Was it just my imagination? It must have been. I'm tired, that's all.

I close the door and go back to the table with the last lit candlestick, but that's when the scratching sound returns. And this time I'm absolutely sure I'm not imagining things. I turn around and hurry to the door on my tiptoes to not alert whoever is playing this trick on me outside of my coming. This time, I tear the door open as quickly as possible and the sound stops at exactly that moment – but the result is the same. There's nothing there.

The little cupboard on the opposite side is neither big nor far enough apart from the wall to hide behind it unless you're a spider, and the corridor stretches quite a bit to both the left and the right, so to not get caught by me when I opened the door, the dog or whatever it was must have been running at the speed of light to get away in time.

Another unsettling thought occurs to me and I look up to the ceiling, but I don't see anything up there either. This is starting to give me the creeps. Knowing I won't be able to go to bed and sleep now, I take the candlestick and go outside. The corridor is still dark and empty, but at least the irritating sound is now gone.

I go to the right first and peek around the corner when I reach it, but as far as I can see in the flickering light of my candles, that part of the corridor is empty. I go back to check the other corner too, only to find my door closed when I walk past it. How odd! I could swear I left it ajar. But now it's closed and it won't open again. It's not like someone is holding on to it from the other side, though. It's locked.

"Hello? Who's there?" I demand, knocking furiously at the door. I only stop when that same annoying scratching sound I heard before suddenly returns – again, it's on the other side, but this time I'm standing on the wrong side.

There seems to be no way to open the door, so I run off to find Elizabeth. I would never wake her up in the middle of the night, but if one of her servants plays mean tricks on me, she should better witness it first-hand. But Pemberley's corridors are so confusing, especially when it's dark, and instead of finding my sister's bedroom, I get lost at some point and accidentally return to the corridor that leads to my room after going around in circles for a few minutes.

Upon my return, however, the door is open again. I can see it from a distance due to the candlelight emerging from my room, even though I know for sure that the only candles I didn't blow out are the ones I have with me. There's something else now – a shadow the shape of a person right in front of the door.

"Hey!" I start heading towards the unidentified person. At first, he or she seems to get ready to run from me, but decides against doing so, and when I reach them, I recognise one of the servants that greeted me along with Elizabeth when I arrived. It's the only one besides Mrs Reynolds whose face I remember: the guy who looked so amused when I apologised to my sister for knocking her out.

"What are you doing here?" I demand in a stern voice. "Did you do this?"

"Do what?" he asks innocently.

"Don't pretend you don't know! Especially because you considered running when you saw me," I snap. "You come to my room in the middle of the night, freak me out by scratching at the door and locking me out, and now you act as if nothing had happened? You better apologise, because my sister will throw you out for sure if I tell her!"

The young servant still looks like he's serious about his ignorance as to why I am so angry, but it gets even better. When I enter my room, I find the blouse I started to sew lying about on the floor, the needles right next to it as if I had never put them away. With a flash of anger, I turn around again, waving around my candlestick in a rather dangerous way.

"And _that_, you didn't do either?" I almost shout at the servant.

"No, I swear, I only just got here at the same time you did!" he defends himself after looking at the sewing kit. "I heard your voice and came to check on you, in case you needed help or something."

"And I'm the Queen of England! Are you going to tell me the candles lit themselves and my blouse got on the floor all by itself? And what about scaring the crap out of me with all that scratching, does it give you an erection or what?"

Now he looks downright shocked. "Excuse me? I just..."

While he's trying to think up another excuse for being here, I notice for the first time that I'm wearing nothing but my nightgown, and he's wearing his. At once I feel utterly ashamed. Although I don't want to let him off the hook just yet, I know that this is neither the right time nor the right place to discuss his crimes.

"Yeah, tell your grandma about what you just did and didn't do!" I say before he can come up with anything, already closing the door on him before my face can turn too red. "Now let me sleep! And if I ever catch you doing something like this again, I won't let you get away that easily!"

I stay by the door to listen to his footsteps as he walks away, but I barely hear them because he's just as barefooted as I am. How embarrassing! I can't believe I just let a male servant see me in my nightgown. I remember four years ago, when our cousin Mr Collins came to visit us for the first time, he ran into Lydia while she was almost naked. She immediately told me about it, which resulted in the two of us laughing our asses off for at least ten minutes.

But I was only seventeen back then and much more easily amused than nowadays. Also, these things are always funnier when it's not _you_ they're happening to, and if my younger sister actually has anything close to a normal human sense of shame, I haven't noticed it yet.

Anyway, if that guy even _dares_ to tell anyone what just happened, I'll carry out my threat without a second thought. He only came to check on me because he heard my voice? Of course! And I'm the Queen of England, as I said. Why would he even hear my voice at that time of the day, or more precisely, the night? Shouldn't he be in bed like all sane people?

Then again, I wasn't in bed either. Who knows? Perhaps he heard it too...

Rubbish! It was him trying to play a trick on me, nothing else, and I don't want to think about it any longer. I should really sleep now, so I quickly put my sewing kit away – again – and go to bed.

There are no more problems in the remaining night. No scratching at the door, no candles lighting themselves, no sewing kit coming to life, no annoying servants and no bad dreams. It's still early in the morning when I get up, clouds cover the sky, the forest and the mountains in the distance are engulfed by heavy fog. It looks like it might still rain today, but I don't mind. Not even bad weather can turn Pemberley and its surroundings into an ugly place, and I'm feeling slightly better today than I did yesterday.

I'm the first one to enter the breakfast-room. Or the first of the family, at least. The servants are already wide awake and busy with preparing breakfast. One of them, who happens to be the same young man I met in front of my room the night before, is just setting the table, not noticing me as I come in.

Still ashamed, I immediately consider turning around and leaving as silently as I came, but then I remember I still have a bone to pick with him. I take a quick look in a nearby mirror to check my hair and make sure I'm wearing something appropriate – knowing myself, I might as well have forgotten to get changed before leaving the bedroom – so I can approach him without causing yet another event I'd rather like to forget.

He still hasn't seen me, and if he has, he doesn't let it show. Although his behaviour last night has left something to be desired, I can't say the same about his working morale: Carefully placing one plate next to the other and the cutlery in between, he doesn't allow himself to be distracted. Either that, or he's just not keen on looking at me for how plain I am – there's something discouraging about this thought.

He, however, is anything but plain. Now that I see him by daylight without a crazed horse, my bleeding sister or any other distractions nearby, I notice for the first time how strikingly handsome he is. Those full lips and impossibly long lashes give his face an almost feminine appearance, but then again, the short, dark hair and that indication of a stubble make up for that. Judging by his face, he can't be much older than me, and he's also tall and slender, but what fascinates me the most about him are his hands. They're big, yet they look so soft and well-tended, no sign of horny skin whatsoever. If I had met him under different circumstances, I might not have believed that he's a servant, or that he has ever worked with his hands before.

Now that I think of it, Lydia would envy me that rather inappropriate encounter last night if she had seen him. If meeting that ugly, intellectually challenged bootlicker named Collins in a nightgown is already enough to get her excited, what would she do if the same happened to her with _this_ guy instead?

But enough of that already, let's get it over with. I clear my throat loudly enough to draw his attention to me, and when he finally sees me, he immediately contorts his face with a mixture of concern and amusement, probably unsure which is the right one to display in this situation. He clearly remembers what happened, even though _I_ don't remember giving him any reason to rejoice in it.

Since I'm already at a loss for words before beginning to talk, he's the one to start the conversation with a simple question that servants tend to ask. "How can I help you?"

"I would like to talk to you about what happened last night," I say, deciding to get straight to the point.

"Well..." He takes his eyes off me and carries on with his work. "I don't know what else there is to say about it. You think I came to your room to harass you. I think you are wrong. But I have the uncomfortable feeling that there's nothing I can say or do to convince you otherwise."

"Why were you still up at that time?" I ask.

"I couldn't sleep," he replies, not looking at me again. "So I decided to stroll about a bit. That usually helps me to get tired. I didn't even know where your bedroom was until I heard your voice. What's your excuse?"

"_My excuse_?" I stare at him for a long moment, unbelieving. "Do I have to explain myself for being awake?"

"Of course you don't. I was just curious."

I'm not sure whether it's his angelic face or the words he says – I certainly hope it's the latter, otherwise it would be awkward –, but he makes me feel sorry. I have lived with my mother long enough to see the way she sometimes treats her servants, and I promised myself I would never become like that.

"Sorry," I sigh. "I didn't mean to be rude. But someone must have scratched at my door and lit the candles and unpacked my sewing kit while I was away, and when I came back, there was you..."

"Well, maybe you just met Pemberley's poltergeist."

A poltergeist? At first I think it's a joke, but he doesn't look like he's joking, so I wait for him to explain. When I realise that he won't say anything else, I ask the obvious question: "What poltergeist?"

He just finished setting the table and starts walking around in the breakfast-room, looking for something to tidy. "You heard that right. There is a poltergeist here at Pemberley. Didn't your sister ever warn you of it? I don't know the whole story, but it comes out at night, mostly. Sometimes it even meows, and..."

I can't help rolling my eyes. "Oh, come on!" I interrupt him, although I must admit to myself that the idea has also crossed my mind before. The idea of a poltergeist, that is, not that of a _meowing_ poltergeist.

"If you don't believe in that kind of stuff, why even bother to inquire any further?" He is now walking in my direction.

A good question, indeed. "Well, I thought you might come up with something more convincing to cover up your crime."

"My crime?" He stops right in front of me and finally looks up. Considering that his eyes are blue, they're unusually dark.

"Yes. Or do you think it's normal to show up at a girl's room at midnight and play tricks on her?"

Sighing, he turns away and heads for the kitchen, where the other servants are. Is it just me, or is he much more self-confident now than he was yesterday? "If you still think that was me, go ahead and tell your sister. It won't help, though, because I'm not Lady Elizabeth's servant, but Lady de Bourgh's. And both of them know about the poltergeist of Pemberley."

It sounds unbelievable. But what if it's the truth?

"Alright! Then come back here and tell me what you know." I almost have to shout now because he's already that far away. "I promise I won't interrupt you this time."

But he doesn't react. He keeps walking away.

"Hey, wait!"

He's almost at the door when I start running after him. I quickly catch up, but not without severely hitting my foot on the leg of that bloody chair at the head of the table and, of course, losing my balance. My short squeal of pain makes the young man jump. He turns around and makes a quick step in my direction while gravity sends me flying towards him. My hands automatically reach out for something to hold on to, eventually grabbing his pants and tearing them down with me as I go down in the most inelegant way possible.

I don't dare to look up when I hear the door open and, shortly thereafter, Elizabeth's voice: "Kitty! What's going on here?"


	4. Legend of the cat

**~ 4 ~ Legend of the cat**

Of course everyone saw it. Elizabeth, Darcy, Lady de Bourgh, and a few of the other servants. I'm sure if my sister had any children by now, they would have been there as well. I'm such a terribly lucky girl! Emphasis on _terribly_.

I don't even want to know what they all must have been thinking. Pulling off a stunt like that in front of the whole crew would have been embarrassing enough in itself, but having them witness me ridding the prettiest of the male servants of his pants at the same time was too much for me. Of course my sister, who knows my clumsiness better than anyone else, believed me at once when I told her what had happened, but the way Darcy shook his head and his aunt just stood there saying nothing, as if she was too shocked to speak... Oh dear, why is it always me?

It's afternoon now and the married couple is about to leave for a walk in the nearby forest.

"Don't you want to accompany us, Kitty?" Elizabeth asks, putting on her new scarf as it's quite freezing outside.

If it was just her and me, I would have said yes, but her husband would be coming with us and I'm not keen on his condescending gaze.

"No, thanks," I quickly decline. "I want to write a letter to Mary and... well, there is still, er... a lot to do."

Please don't ask me what I mean by "a lot".

My sister doesn't look pleased with my answer, but Darcy interferes before she has a chance to speak. "Well, feel free to move about as much as you wish, just do me a favour and don't molest any more servants while we're not home."

See, Lizzie? I know you can't hear my thoughts, but that's exactly what I'm afraid of.

"What?" Darcy asks innocently after being punched by Elizabeth.

"Stop making fun of my sister," she commands with a stern voice, and I can still hear their voices when they continue arguing about it on the other side of the door.

I need someone to talk to, so I return to my room with ink, a feather and a piece of paper to do as I told Elizabeth: I'm writing a letter to Mary. She's the only one who I know won't laugh at me – simply because Mary doesn't have any sense of humour. She'll just study my letter in the same analytical way she reads her books and then tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how embarrassed she thinks I should feel and how long the inhabitants of Pemberley will still continue to tolerate my weird behaviour until they decide to throw me out. My only hope is that the amount of days, hours, minutes and seconds she'll eventually come up with won't have a minus-sign in front of it.

I concentrate so much on writing the letter that I only look up when I run out of ink halfway through. I realise that although it's still relatively early, it has become quite dark outside, even by autumn standards, and occasionally silent lightnings can be seen flashing in the distance. I hope my sister and her husband will be able to return home before they get caught in a thunderstorm.

My new destination is the library, where most of the ink is stored. Pemberley, albeit a rather large castle, is full of life when the owners are at home, and now that they are gone, it's more like a morgue. No voices, no footsteps, no piano music – there is no single sound and I don't meet anyone as I walk through the corridors on my way to the library.

The first time I run into someone – quite literally – is when I finally get there. When I'm just about to turn the knob, the door suddenly opens. Unwittingly holding on to the knob, I am dragged into the library rather forcefully as the door is pulled away from me. I haven't even realised what's happening when I'm already lying on top of someone I accidentally knocked down by crashing into them.

"I'm not trying to be disrespectful or anything, but your advances are getting more and more painful for me," the troubled man I just buried under my body comments, and of course I know at once who that voice belongs to. Shit!

"Well, no one told you to tear the door open like that," I quickly retort as I get back up, looking down at the one omnipresent servant with the angelic face whose name I still don't know. Why am I not surprised to run into him of all people?

"At least my pants are safe for now," he says with a cheeky smirk when he gets up and draws my attention to the pair of braces he's wearing over his shirt. "See these? You won't be able to undress me anymore unless you try really hard."

"Let's rather not test that," I say, convinced that there's nothing on this planet I can't do involuntarily. I quickly walk past him to prevent any more accidents and look for the little table with the drawer where Elizabeth keeps the ink.

Although my favourite servant was just about to leave the room when I stumbled in, I don't hear the door, and when I turn around he's still there.

"Actually... It's good you're here," he says then, turning around to approach me. "I was looking for a specific book and I can't find it. Perhaps you might know where it is."

"Sure, perhaps... But I can't promise that I'll be much of a help. I'm better known for losing things than for finding them," I explain while, astonishingly, actually finding what I was looking for at once.

"Good. It's Her Ladyship's grand aunt's favourite book and she told me to get it for her."

"Lady de Bourgh's grand aunt told you that?"

"No. Lady de Bourgh herself. The book is called..."

"Meow."

Taking a tiny bottle of ink out of the drawer, I look at him with a frown. "It's called Meow? Sorry, but I'm quite sure my sister doesn't have a book with a title like this, neither does her husband."

"That wasn't me!" he claims. "It must have been the poltergeist..."

"Yeah, of course." I roll my eyes and walk past him again, this time to leave the room as quickly as possible before he can drive me crazy with another one of his ghost stories.

"Meow," he repeats. I have to admit, though, that his imitation of this specific animal sound is the best I've ever heard from a human.

"Very funny," I acknowledge on the way to the door, casting an amused glance in his direction before I reach out for the knob. That's when I hear the meowing sound again, and I stop at once.

I was looking at him – I still am. His lips didn't move while I heard it. And even if he's the best cat sound imitator on this planet, he can't possibly add an echo to his voice. Yes, there was an echo. It sounded like a cat meowing in a big, empty room.

However, I remain sceptical. "How do you do this?"

"I'm not doing anything," he insists under his breath. "I told you there's a meowing poltergeist at Pemberley."

Just when he says that, the mysterious poltercat meows for the fourth time. No, it can't have been him – the sound didn't even come from his direction. Actually, it came from everywhere at the same time.

"How odd!" he whispers. "I've never heard it by day before. But then again, this day is almost as dark as the night."

"But why would it come out when there's a thunderstorm? Cats hate water." I can't believe I really said that. So I'm playing this game with him now.

Looking around in the library, he seems to be concentrating hard on finding out where the imaginary cat is. Time goes by, the seconds slowly tick away, measurable by means of the big grandfather clock between two of the room's floor-to-ceiling windows. But there's no other sound.

I jump at the flash of a sudden lightning outside, closely followed by a loud clap of thunder ripping through the silence. Then I hear voices coming from the corridor through the open door, this time sounding entirely human. Elizabeth and Darcy are back from their walk, fortunately.

"Hey! Didn't you want to help me find that book?" the servant asks, but I ignore him as I run out of the library. He said Elizabeth knows about what's going on, and if it turns out she doesn't, I'll know for sure that he's a liar.

"Kitty! You're running through the house like a whirlwind. Do you want to compete with the one outside?" a rain-soaked Elizabeth greets me as I storm into the foyer, tripping over the edge of a carpet and almost kissing the floor again.

"Is there really a poltercat in this castle?" I ask at once.

Elizabeth hides her silent laughter behind her hand. "A _what_?"

"A poltergeist that meows like a cat. That's what this servant keeps telling me all the time." I point at said servant with my thumb when he approaches from behind.

"Um..." She looks at Darcy. "My husband is more familiar with Pemberley's history, so I'm sure he's better at explaining those things to you. Excuse me for a moment, I need a towel to dry my hair."

Darcy shoots her a slightly annoyed look which she can't see because she's already turned her back on him. He looks like he needs a towel just as much as she does. But then he looks at me and smiles. "Alright, then. I'll tell you more about it, but let's find a more comfortable environment."

A few minutes later, we're sitting in front of the chimney fire in one of the drawing rooms. Mrs Reynolds is cleaning one of the shelves on the other side of the room whereas "my" servant is just as interested in hearing the full story as I am.

"What did Finley tell you about the legend so far?" Darcy asks, sitting closest to the fire so his clothes and his hair can dry faster.

"I don't know, who's Finley?" I ask in return.

Darcy looks somewhat confused now. I look at the servant next to me who raises his hand, saying: "I am Finley."

"Oh. Good to know." Now the servant who seems to stalk me finally has a name. I look at Darcy again. "He told me there's a poltergeist, but nothing else."

"Alright. Then I'll have to start from the beginning." He clears his throat as if he was preparing for a rather long speech. "It started long before I was born. My mother and my aunt Lady de Bourgh were little girls who lived here at Pemberley by that time, and they told me all I know. It's the story of my unmarried great-great-aunt Lady Catherine Hamilton and her unusual lifestyle."

I roll my eyes. Of course she has to be called Catherine... Seems like I'm bestowed with the honour of catching a glimpse at my future self: An unmarried old woman with freaky hobbies. As if I hadn't known before.

"You know, it's like an old family tradition," Darcy says to me specifically when he seems to notice my reaction, but fortunately he can't know why exactly I was rolling my eyes. "Most of the women in my family are called either Catherine like Lady de Bourgh and said great-great-aunt, or Anne like my deceased cousin and my mother. There's no special meaning to it."

Yes, there is. Considering that Darcy's mother and Lady de Bourgh's daughter are dead as well, all Annes seem to meet an untimely demise while all Catherines spend major parts of their lives alone. I mustn't forget to warn Elizabeth not to call her daughter any of these names if she ever has one, no matter what the Darcy family tradition says; it would be like condemning her to either a short life, or a long but lonely one. Makes me wonder if giving _both_ names to a child might somehow break the curse, or make it even worse.

"Lady Hamilton was very fond of animals, but cats in particular. She always said she didn't need a husband or children as long as she could have a bunch of cats instead. Luckily for her, our family was already very rich at that time, so the women were quite able to live their own lives without depending on a man. And Lady Hamilton was not exactly a beauty of nature anyway."

I lower my head. Is he still telling the story of his great-great-aunt, or is he talking about me now? Wait! No, that can't be. I'm not rich either.

"But, of course, her wish to go against the conventions of society was not met with approval by everyone," Darcy continues. "Especially my great-grandmother was extremely unhappy with her sister's ideas. She didn't miss any opportunity to try to force her own views on her, but to no avail."

So at least Lady Catherine Hamilton was determined and knew what she wanted. Another thing that sets her apart from me. Even if I did know what I want, I would probably not be able to achieve it.

"At first my great-great-aunt wanted to be a veterinary. But she was too far ahead of her time, since there was no proper training for that profession before the second half of the eighteenth century, especially not for the female sex. However, being the women's libber she was, that wouldn't stop her." Darcy chuckled at the thought. "A great lover of nature, she knew what kind of herbs and berries were beneficial to the health, so she used that knowledge to care for any sick or injured animals she found. With the aid of a few servants who were close to her and supported her, she became the veterinary of Pemberley, looking after anything from small pets to full-grown horses that belonged to the family. And it didn't stop there. The news spread rather quickly and soon she invited people from all social circles around Pemberley to visit her with their unwell animals. She didn't earn money with it, she did it for her love of animals."

The imagination of Pemberley crowded with all kinds of animals and their worried owners comes to my mind and I find it quite hard to believe, especially with a single woman behind everything. Where I come from, women are there to deliver children and smile and look pretty all day. And to do the housework if they don't have any servants.

For the next part of his narration, Darcy turns his attention to me. "The bedroom you sleep in now used to be her room. By the time my mother and Lady de Bourgh moved out of their parents' home, all of its walls were decorated with big paintings of animals, especially cats."

"What happened to them?" I inquire. "I haven't seen any of those paintings since I'm here."

"Well, unfortunately the story didn't have a happy ending." Darcy turns away from me now and stares into the fire. "As time passed, my great-grandmother grew more and more annoyed of all the poor people and animals populating her house every now and then. The sisters argued about that several times, and one evening, when Lady Hamilton was out to visit a farmer who was too old and weak to travel all the long way to Pemberley with his sick dog, a fire broke out in the cellar where she kept the records on animal anatomy she had collected over decades, as well as her home-brewed medicine."

"Oh no! Her whole life's work!" the servant – Finley – realises.

"Did her sister start the fire?" I ask.

"No one knows," Darcy replies. "It might have been arson, but no evidence was ever found because everyone had an alibi. Most people believe, though, that the fire was my great-grandmother's doing, as she wanted her sister to abandon that hobby she found so annoying. Afterwards, she didn't even try to appear to be sorry for what had happened. It was her who removed the animal paintings from her sister's room without giving it a second thought, although we don't know where those paintings ended up."

"What a bitch!" I utter under my breath.

"My great-great-aunt didn't take it well. When she arrived late at night to see that her life's work had been destroyed, she ran out of the house, not caring about the fierce thunderstorm that was going on outside, disappeared into the nearby forest and was never seen again. Or at least..." Darcy hesitates. "No one recognised her."

"What do you mean?" I perk up my ears because I have a feeling that this is where the most interesting part of the story begins.

"It was presumed that the thunderstorm killed her, even though no body was ever recovered. But only a week or so after her disappearance, one specific cat started showing up at Pemberley on a regular basis. It never came close to entering the castle, it would just stand there and watch from a distance, and it hissed whenever it saw my great-grandmother. Its eyes had the same light blue colour as Lady Hamilton's, and its fur had the same colour as her hair, reddish brown with grey spots." Darcy hesitates once again, this time considerably longer than the first time, as if he had to think about the right words to use.

I think I already know what comes next.

"Some people think that..." Darcy starts talking again. "They think Lady Hamilton never disappeared, but that she became this cat."

Silence.

"Oh," Finley says after a while. "I've heard about werewolves, but..."

"And you think it's the same cat that is haunting Pemberley today, as a ghost?", I ask.

"I don't know what to think of this story," Darcy explains. "But since I've never seen or heard anything unusual since I live here, which includes random cat apparitions in the garden, I don't believe that there's a poltergeist or any other kind of ghost at all at Pemberley, although my wife and my aunt claim otherwise."

"So do I," Finley says, turning to me. "And you heard it too, didn't you?"

"Well, I'm not sure what you two heard, but this is an old castle, and old buildings tend to have their specific sounds," Darcy says, getting up from his chair. "Now that you know the whole legend, I'm sure you will excuse me."

With these words, he leaves us alone in the drawing room. Finley and I stay sitting there for a long minute, staring at each other, his face probably a little bit more unbelieving than mine, although it was him who started talking about the poltercat. But that is not the kind of story you hear every day.


	5. Sewing marital difficulties

**~ 5 ~ Sewing marital difficulties**

When I return to my room – _her_ room... – to finish my letter to Mary, I'm surprised to once again find my sewing kit on the floor. This time, however, I'm sure it wasn't Finley who put it there; he was with me all the time. It probably wasn't him the first time either. What if there really is a poltergeist, and what if poltergeists cannot only make noise, but move solid objects as well?

But why my sewing kit? What about it?

I'll take care of it later. First I'll finish the letter or else I'll never do so. It's about time to light the candles since it's getting quite dark outside, and when I'm done with the letter, it is pitch-black on the other side of the window, just like that night when I first heard the poltergeist.

I wonder if it's here now.

Looking around in the room, actually looking for something I would never be able to see, I try to imagine where the paintings of the animals might have been before they were removed, and where they are now. It's the first time I realise how utterly plain the walls of this room actually are. It would be nice to have the paintings back where they originally were. Where they belong.

"Meow!"

I look around once again, but it's a reflex more than anything else. I know by now that there's no real cat here.

"What is it?" I want to know, unbelieving that I actually just asked this question to a ghost. "What are you trying to tell me?"

This must be as far as I can get today, though. She doesn't answer me. But for some reason – and I don't know if it's indeed a coincidence or if she's somehow able to manipulate me to look at what she wants me to see – my eyes rest on the sewing kit. Maybe I should continue working on that blouse...

Strictly speaking, I owe this hobby to my mother. But I'll never forget how arduous it was and how much I hated it at first. The primary reason why my mother wanted me to learn it was to make sure I had something to impress other people with, or else, she thought, I would never find a man. I always shared her concerns about that to some extent, yet still, I didn't consider sewing to be something one could impress a man with. I would gladly have played the piano instead if I had been able to, but apart from that Mary claimed the piano for herself most of the time, I was – and still am – almost completely tone-deaf.

My mother was also the one who taught me the first steps, but my relationship with the needle was complicated to say the least, and I hit my finger more often than the fabric. When my mother decided that my clumsiness was too much to bear for her precious nerves, she handed the task of educating me over to our servant Hill. Oddly enough, it worked, although Hill was not especially talented at sewing either, and I still had many little accidents at the beginning.

The good thing about these accidents was that the torturous sewing lessons had to be cancelled for a while after each case of self-inflicted violence. The bad thing is that I now have a scar on my right hand that will never go away again. It doesn't hurt or prevent me from using my hand the way people normally do, but it's there, and it's ugly.

But as time went by, I eventually learned it, I've even grown fond of it, and I believe it's the only thing I can do without posing a threat to my own or other people's safety. Indeed, I can't remember pricking my finger (or anything else) over the last few years... Well, let's just not count that horse, it was over-reacting anyway.

I stop thinking about or hearing the poltercat as soon as I sit down on the floor and get on with it. I want to finish the blouse as soon as possible so I can start with the fitting skirt I have in mind.

Once again, I keep sewing until I fall asleep over it, and once again I wake up in the middle of the night and finally go to bed. This time, however, I don't put the sewing kit away, knowing from my previous experience that my mysterious new pet won't allow it for long.

Since the weather is a lot nicer the next day, Elizabeth decides to go out again. This time she wants to visit a local market place (well, as "local" is it can be considering that Pemberley is surrounded by wide fields and therefore basically in the middle of nowhere) and she insists on my coming.

"You have to go out a little more," she explains as we sit together in the carriage that will take us to the market place. "You don't want to spend all your time here behind the thick walls of the castle, do you? Although I can't blame you. I'm quite fond of Pemberley too. It helped me to forget a part of the aversion I felt for my husband when we weren't married."

"That surprises me, Lizzie," I admit. "I thought you had married him out of love, not because you wanted to become the mistress of Pemberley."

Elizabeth laughs, looking as bright and cheerful as the sun that is shining down on us. "Of course it happened out of love. But I can't deny that seeing Pemberley for the first time made me fantasise about living here and seeing the beauty of this place every day, which in turn would have meant becoming his wife... or his servant."

She laughs again and I join in, although the thought doesn't seem that far-fetched. I wouldn't want to see my beautiful, smart, elegant sister Elizabeth as a servant, but I have no doubt that she would work hard to make her landlord happy in every way a servant can.

And I also have no doubt that Lydia, with her perverted mind, would have laughed her ass off if I had said this to her.

"But be assured, Kitty, that I would never have married for any other reason than true love," she continues, still smiling, but there's something wrong about that smile, and I think I even heard the tone of her voice change when she said "true love".

This is not the first time I get the impression that Elizabeth's fairytale life is in fact not as fairytale-like as she makes it seem to others. A thing she has in common with Lydia.

Since we're alone, I realise that now might be the best chance to ask her about it, if not the only one.

"Speaking of your husband, where is he?" I ask as innocently as possible to not make it obvious what I'm trying to get at. "Didn't he want to accompany us?"

A cheeky little cloud appears on the blue sky and tries to make its way to the sun. It doesn't look like rain yet, but the day might get a little darker before we reach the market place.

"He has other things to take care of," Elizabeth replies to my question. "You know, it is not really a hobby of most men to go shopping with their wives. He spends most of his time in his office lately."

Sounds like a plausible explanation for his absence. But I feel there's more.

"That's strange. Watching you two has made me think that you and Mister Darcy have much more in common than other couples. Although it took you forever to figure that out."

"Well, perhaps after all, we don't have as much in common as we thought. That happens occasionally."

The cloud has now reached the sun and is blocking some of its bright beams.

"But Lizzie! You're not telling me you're unhappy, are you?" The situation is quickly becoming uncomfortable. Oh, I hate it when my gut feeling is right about things like this!

"No," she says. "I'm not unhappy. There's just some things that... haven't turned out the way I would have wanted them to. But nothing is perfect. I'll learn to live with it, and then..."

"Is it because of the children?" a sudden impulse makes me ask.

Dumbfounded, my sister stares at me.

"You looked somewhat distressed when Lady de Bourgh addressed that subject on my first evening here," I quickly add. "I didn't take it seriously at first, I thought you were just annoyed at her, as always... but now..."

"Kitty, this is nothing you should bother your head about," Elizabeth says, turning away from me. "Let's just enjoy this little trip and not think about anything serious today."

"You want children, but he doesn't," I conclude, completely ignoring her objection. "Or is it the other way around? Although... no, I don't think so. Someone like you, who marries only out of love, must be in want of children."

"You sound like our mother."

"And you sound like a liar."

"What?"

"You _are_ unhappy. And knowing you, I'm sure as hell you already told Jane about it. She would confirm it if I asked her, wouldn't she?"

This is the beginning of an awkward silence that lasts for a few minutes. But silence, too, is a way to answer a question.

"Why can't you tell _me_ about it?" I demand when those uncomfortable minutes are over. "You only talk to Jane. Always. But remember, you have other sisters as well. You'd be amazed at how lovely Mary can be if you give her a chance. As for me, of course I know I'm not out of Lydia's shadow yet, but..."

"You're too young to understand," Elizabeth claims, interrupting me with the silliest argument I could have thought to hear from her.

"Too young?" I repeat, unbelieving. "You were about as old as I am now when the whole thing with Darcy started."

"I don't want you to worry about things you can't change anyway."

"But Jane can't change it either. Yet I'm still sure you told her."

"Jane is married. You are not."

I'm sure it's not her intention to hurt me, but she still does. Her remark silences me on the topic for the rest of the journey, but it doesn't help in the slightest to remove the cloud that is still obscuring the sun. To the contrary; its dark siblings have decided to join it. Maybe it _does_ look like rain, after all.

We spend our time at the market place looking around and talking about random stuff that has nothing to do with Darcy, marriage, or people who will never marry. When Elizabeth meets and chats with a friend I've never seen before, I continue on my own and eventually find a merchant who sells fine fabric for sewing. Sadly, it costs a fine amount of money as well.

"And that's not negotiable?" I ask, just to be sure.

"No," the old man says firmly. "Quality has its price."

I've found the kind of fabric I want, a piece of beautiful off-white cloth, but I don't have enough money with me to pay for it, so I'll have to improvise.

"And what if I, er... use a part of it to sew something for you?" I suggest. "Look, I will need most of this stuff for a skirt I have in mind, but if I use the remainder to sew a beautiful scarf for you to keep you warm in winter, do you think that will lower the price a little bit? Or how about a nice hood for your wife?"

This at least puts a contemplative look on the man's face. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Well, do you see my sister over there?" I point at Elizabeth. "I'm sure you know who she is."

"Mrs Darcy is your sister?"

"Exactly. I'm visiting her at Pemberley for the time being, so if for whatever reason I fail to keep my promise, you know where to find me."

The merchant doesn't look convinced at first, but when I turn around to call Lizzie, he changes his mind.

"Alright, I trust you!" he says, handing me the fabric. "I'll sell you this for half of the original price, but I expect you to sew a beautiful birthday present for my wife! She loves hoods."

"I'll try to surpass your expectations, Mister..."

"White."

This promise won't be hard to keep. I have enough experience with little things like scarves and hoods by now. So I get the fabric for a relatively low price and still have some money left. I spend it on beautiful little glass beads that will adorn not only my skirt, but also the hood for Mister White's wife.

I'm finally in a good mood again, and it seems like the same applies to the sun too. The clouds have disappeared.


	6. A day off in the lake

**~ 6 ~ A day off in the lake**

I finish the blouse in the afternoon after we get back from the market and start with the skirt early the next day. The poltercat has been remarkably quiet ever since; she apparently likes what I'm doing and doesn't see any reason to interfere. I guess I'm beginning to understand her way of thinking.

It feels nice to have something to do. That's perhaps why I'm in such a good mood today. Since it's another beautiful warm day, I take my sewing kit outside to work by the lake, where I spend a couple of hours until I'm called inside to eat. The first thing I notice is that Finley seems to be missing; he's neither in the kitchen nor in the dining room.

While we're eating, Elizabeth tells me she and Darcy are going to ride out and once again asks me to join them.

"No, thanks. You know how clumsy I am on a horse," I remind her.

The other reason I don't want to go with them is my knowledge of their marital difficulties. I think it would be best if they spent some time together to sort it all out, without having to worry about an annoying little sister who falls off her horse every five seconds.

"If you don't practise, you will never learn it," says Lady de Bourgh, who I haven't seen since Elizabeth and I went to the market yesterday, and I haven't been missing her either. "I'm sure it would be a very pleasant experience."

"Well, I don't think everyone has to make _every_ experience there is in the world," I reply. "And on top of that, I already have other plans for today."

"Is that so? What other plans could you possibly have?" she demands.

Another rude comment, but oh well, unless Her Ladyship has no plans of ending her visit to Pemberley any time soon, it's about time to get used to that. "No offence, Lady de Bourgh, but just because I don't have any hobbies that correspond to what you consider decent activities, doesn't mean I don't have any at all."

"What _are_ your hobbies then?" she asks next, not showing any signs of the surprise at my answer I would have expected from her. "The last time I asked you about your hobbies, you didn't know what to say."

"The last time you asked me about my hobbies, you didn't give me time to answer before you started assuming a lot that was not correct, and when you were done, I didn't feel like explaining anything anymore."

"That's right, aunt!" Darcy agrees with a low chuckle. "You must learn to ask fewer questions and let people finish when they answer."

I don't know whether or not Lady de Bourgh takes her nephew's comment seriously, but at least it silences her on the topic for the time being. I can finish my lunch with no more interruptions and get back to work right after that. Elizabeth waves at me when she passes by with her husband before they ride away on their horses.

I sit by the lake for another few hours, taking my time to make the skirt as beautiful as possible and taking a break now and then to admire the landscape. There's still enough fabric left to sew a hood for Mrs White as promised, but first I need to take the skirt inside to remove the little stains of dirt it got from lying on the grass. Even though I was being careful... oh well, shit happens.

"So you're done with the dress?" a familiar male voice asks, making me jump since I didn't know someone else was here.

"Down here!" he says when I don't find him at once, and looking down at the water, I see Finley in it.

"Gosh! You must be freezing!" I say, shivering at the sight of him swimming in the cold lake in nothing but a short bathing costume.

"Oh, I'm used to it," he says. "And you should try it too. Especially after working on that skirt for hours. It's quite refreshing, you know."

This upsets me. "You've been watching me? Don't you have anything better to do? I didn't see you in the dining room today, so shouldn't you be cleaning the house or anything like that?"

"Not today," he smiles. "I have a day off!"

"A day off?"

"Yes. Or did you think servants still have to work 24/7 without a break, like slaves? Well, nope, sometimes even people like me can enjoy their lives like you do every day."

An awkward silence ensues, and I decide it's best to get back inside now.

"Well then, enjoy your day off," I say as I pick up my belongings.

"Hey, why don't you stay here? I didn't mean to scare you off."

"If you don't mean to do that, try not stalking people the next time. Because that's exactly the kind of behaviour that tends to scare them off, I'm afraid," I explain with a hidden smile, and as he opens his mouth to argue, I quickly add: "No, I was going to get inside anyway. Sewing on the grass was probably not the best idea to begin with, and now my skirt is dirty."

"Well, you will have to take the water from the lake anyway, so you might as well wash it here..." And then a suspicious grin appears on his face.

"What?" I demand, one hand on my hip.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Say it!" I insist.

"Well..." He swims backwards, as if he was afraid I was going to throw something at him for what he's about to say. Perhaps I am, I don't know yet. "I just thought, if you tried to wash the skirt in the lake, your clumsiness would probably cause you to fall head first into the water, that's why you don't do it."

"You're quite bold for a servant!"

"A servant on his day off!" he reminds me with a wink.

That wink provokes me even more than his cheeky grin, and, deciding to prove him wrong, I go to the lake. After all, it's only three little stains, that won't take too long. Let's see if he stills grins like that afterwa...

"AAAAARGH!"

Splash! And there I am. In the water. With my skirt and the unused rest of the fabric and the clothes.

"To hell with those slippery stones!" I cuss when I surface, but my angry moaning is drowned by Finley's laughter.

"Congratulations!" he quickly spits out when he has barely enough air left to speak. "You've won the bet!"

"What?"

He still can't stop laughing. "I was sure you would fall over while trying to clean the skirt, you were sure you wouldn't. And you were right! You didn't even _make_ it to the lake!"

I look the skirt in my hands and carefully place it on one of those slippery rocks. The stains are gone, but now it's all wet.

"Fuck!"

"Hey, easy there!" Finley tries to calm me. "Is that the tone of a lady?"

"Oh, shut up!"

That only encourages his funny mood to a point where I can't help punishing him by spattering him with water. He returns the favour and a few seconds later I find myself in a water fight with Lady de Bourgh's servant. What a ladylike thing to do! Speaking of Lady de Bourgh...

"Finley! Are you still out there in the lake?"

Her strong voice calling from inside the castle is enough to send chills up my spine that have nothing to do with the cold water. How embarrassing is that?

"No, no, no! She can't see me here!" I almost shout, panicking, and when I see one of her feet at the threshold, I choose the only option that seems reasonable: diving!

Struggling to keep myself underwater for more than a minute, I can only watch, but not hear Finley talk to the other person I can't even see, and desperately waiting for a sign that the coast is clear. The awaited sign never comes, though, so I have to resurface when I can't hold my breath any longer.

The castle is the first thing I see, but Lady de Bourgh doesn't appear to be anywhere nearby. Perfect timing, I guess.

"Is she gone?" An unnecessary question.

"Lady de Bourgh? Oh, yes, she went back inside half a minute ago." he answers. "She only wanted to know if..."

"What? Why didn't you signal me in any way that she's gone? Did you want me to drown?"

Now he laughs again. "Certainly not! I was relying on your judgement to tell you when to resurface. I was just curious about how long you can hold your breath, and dude, that was impressive! The next time Her Ladyship asks you about your hobbies, say you're a self-employed pearl diver! That will shut her up on all the things you don't want to talk about."

"So you do not only watch me while I'm sewing on the lake, you also eavesdrop on my conversations at the dinner table?" That realisation causes me to send another wave of water in his direction.

"Servants know everything!"

"I thought you were a servant _on your day off_," I remind him, trying to make my way out of the water, clumsy as ever.

"Tell that Lady de Bourgh! She was only looking for me because I still haven't found that book she asked me to bring her, so I needed to remind her that she'll have to wait until tomorrow to scold me for it."

"How come she allows you to take so many liberties?" I wonder. "I know what my mother would do with someone like you..."

"My relationship with Lady de Bourgh is quite... special," Finley enlightens me with another one of his cheeky winks.

"Oh... okay. Guess I should better _not_ ask what that means," I decide, but too late, the images are already in my head. It's about time to take my skirt and the sewing kit and return to my room before I catch a cold... and, most importantly, before anyone sees me like this.

"Hey, that's not what I meant!" Finley says, but I can still hear him chuckle under his breath while he gets out of the water too.

That's when I hear that sound I didn't know I was afraid of up until now: the trot of a horse on the grass. No, two horses. The landlords are returning from their ride...

It's too late to run. I would never reach the castle in time. So I just wave and smile at Elizabeth as if there was nothing to worry about when she approaches on her horse, hoping she won't notice that I'm completely soaked.

Well, hoping she will confuse me with the Queen of England who decided to take a swim in the majestic lake of Pemberley for whatever reason might be a safer bet.

"I see," she says with a face I can't read when she finally arrives, her eyes flickering back and forth between me and Finley. "You didn't join us because you considered swimming in the lake a more enjoyable activity. Not that I blame you – everyone who has ever seen this lake wants to know what it's like to swim in it. But people usually choose a warmer season for this experience."

Just as I open my mouth to explain the situation to her, she cuts me off. "Go to your room and get changed before you get sick. After that, I'd like to have a word with you."

With that, she rides off, not giving me time to answer. She doesn't look happy.

"She'll kill me," I conclude. "Or even worse, send me back to Longbourn right away! I'm screwed!"

"Nah! Just tell her what happened. You slipped and fell. It's the truth, and she will understand," Finley reassures me.

I shake my head, sighing. "Thanks, but you don't know anything about our past. And that stupid curse that's been resting on me for years."

Finley keeps trying to cheer me up as he follows me into the castle, but I know there's no point in listening to that anymore. I'm not stupid – or not completely, at least. I know I'm in for a lot of trouble.


	7. Unexpected

**~ 7 ~ Unexpected**

Elizabeth is in the library, her favourite place, when I find her. She still doesn't look happy. At least she gave me time to get changed. Now I can go to my grave in dry clothes. But I will not go down without a fight, that's for sure.

"Close the door," she instructs me as she puts away the book she's been reading until I came in. I do as she says, and she comes straight to the point.

"What on earth were you thinking?" And again, before I can say anything, she goes on: "I never expected you to get along with Lady de Bourgh and her rudeness, in fact I was quite proud of you and your new self-confidence when you stood up to her this morning. But outside, by the lake... It was already the second time I caught you in a questionable situation with her servant, and that's not tolerable!"

"You didn't catch me at anything, neither the first nor the second time. I fell into the water while he was swimming in it," I argue.

"You can't always blame everything on your clumsiness," she retorts. "For goodness' sake, you're a lady! Learn to behave like one."

"But I already told you..."

She ignores me. "Kitty, do you know what you're doing? That's exactly the kind of behaviour that got Lydia into her current situation, and it still affects all of us!"

Of course she would bring up Lydia. I knew it! Time to explode.

"Is that so?" I ask. "The unintentional swim in the lake, emphasis on _unintentional_, might have killed some of my brain cells, so please help me get my memory back: When exactly did _I_ elope with an officer I barely knew? And when did I return from said elopement, acting as if nothing had happened?"

I don't care anymore what she thinks about that situation with Finley. The moment Lydia comes into play, she's the centre of attention, as she has always been.

"That's not the point," she says.

"Yes, Lizzie, it _is_ the point!" I disagree. "It has been the point for the last three years! Just because Lydia never got past the immaturity of a young teenager, you all believe without a doubt that _my_ development has stopped as well. Yes, my sister has shamed the family, but she's also _your_ sister, and Mary's, and Jane's, so why do I have to be the only one to suffer from her past actions? Why do I need to suffer at all? As I told you, it's not like _I_ did what she did, and I'm not responsible for it either."

"Kitty, not long ago, you were afraid you might have made a bad impression on my husband and his aunt. You haven't done anything to improve that impression ever since, quite to the contrary!"

This turn of events is rather unexpected. I didn't think she was _that_ angry.

"That same evening, your reply was that I shouldn't worry as much," I remind her. "But you seem to have become an entirely different person in the meantime. Why is that? Are your marital problems bothering you so much that you need someone to take your anger out on?"

She seems shocked at this, but I don't care. This is my chance to finally tell someone in the family how I feel about their treatment of me.

After a moment of silence, Elizabeth speaks again, her voice relatively calm. "This is not about me or my problems. I told you not to mind them."

"Then why do _you_ mind _mine_?" I demand.

"Because someone has to!" she shoots back. "You can't take care of yourself, just like Lydia couldn't take care of herself, and our family's reputation was in grave danger because there was no one there to guide her. Or at least no one was willing. I won't make the same mistake twice."

"The family's reputation. That's all you ever care about, right?"

"What are you saying?"

I fold my arms in front of my chest. "You know what I'm saying. When Lydia was gone, did you ever waste one minute worrying about her safety?"

"Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, she had eloped with Wickham! A stranger whose shady back-story you were perfectly aware of, and we didn't know where they had gone. Did it ever cross your mind, either back then or afterwards, that our sister might have been in danger? Wickham never mistreated her in any way, or at least not that we know of, but he could have!"

Elizabeth wants to say something, but this time I'm the one who doesn't let her. "Do you have any idea how terribly guilty I felt because I'd known everything before it happened and never said a word? Do you know how much the possibility of never seeing Lydia again frightened me? Meanwhile, you and Jane, the Bennets' angels, were only worried about what her behaviour would possibly do to _the reputation of our family_."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is! And I'm sure you even rejoice in the fact that she's unhappily married to Wickham now. You think it's the righteous punishment for her actions, don't you? You hate Lydia and in your opinion, she deserves nothing better than that."

"You're wrong!" she claims.

"Oh, am I? To be honest, I couldn't care less!" I scoff. "When do _you_ ever care about whether or not you're wrong about something? You're not doing it at the moment, you know. You're just blaming me for something you think Lydia would or wouldn't do in my place. If you see so much of Lydia in me, I guess you must hate me just as much as you hate her. What was your reason for letting me come here after all? As far as I know, your husband still doesn't want to see her, so why is it any different with me?"

I don't know where I find the words. They're just bursting out of me like something I've wanted to say for a very long time. And that's true.

"No one hates you, Kitty," Elizabeth tries to assure me. "If I did hate you, we wouldn't have this conversation right now. If I did hate you, I wouldn't care about what you do or how you behave. You mustn't always take scolding for a sign of aversion. I only want to prevent you from doing something stupid."

"Oh, believe me, I take your word for that."

"You do?"

"Of course. Because if you let me do something stupid, it would sooner or later cause problems that would affect the reputation of the family."

Elizabeth rolls her eyes.

"And isn't that exactly what I am?" I ask. "The girl who causes problems? Even your husband calls me that."

"If you could just calm down and listen for a second..."

"I don't want to hear it, Lizzie! You've made your point perfectly clear. And I'm glad you did. At least I know now what you really think of me."

"Kitty, wait!"

But I'm already opening the door and storming outside a second later.

When will it ever be enough? When will _I_ ever be enough? The whole world treats me as if I was a constant that never changes. As if everything that may or may not have been true years ago was still true nowadays, but only when it comes to me. By now, everybody on the planet knows the story of Elizabeth and Darcy, the way they managed to overcome their prejudices to get together. Everybody also noticed Jane's transition from the most gullible girl on Earth to a woman who is still kind, but a bit more sensible when it comes to seeing the good in everyone and everything. When will anybody ever see the progress I have made? Or is it really that petty?

I don't even notice the door to my room being wide open until I stumble inside and see it's not empty. Lady de Bourgh is there, holding the blouse and the skirt I have sewn in her hands and looking at them. I can't see her facial expression because her back is turned on me, but she stands still like a statue.

After a moment, she finally turns around and asks: "Are these clothes yours?"

I nod.

"Where did you buy them? And how much were they?" she wants to know.

"The only thing I bought was the fabric, and that was so expensive I had to make a deal with the merchant," I explain. "I made the clothes myself."

Her eyes widen. "You sewed them yourself?"

"Yes. And I'm not interested in any complaints, so if you don't like them, keep it to yourself," I warn her as I go to sit on my bed. Am I being rude? Perhaps, but I really don't care anymore. After that argument with my sister in the library, I don't think I will spend another day here anyway, so what's the point of still trying to get along with the people here?

To my surprise, though, Lady de Bourgh says: "Complaints? No, definitely not. To the contrary, this is astonishing! I can't believe you did that all by yourself, without any help."

"Then don't. What you believe or not is none of my business." I lean back, wishing she would just go and leave me alone. I close my eyes, pretending she wasn't there, but her voice still reaches my ears the next time she speaks.

"I don't understand why you're so hostile to me. Is this the way you always react to a compliment?"

"Well, excuse me, Your Ladyship, but not believing that I'm capable of sewing some clothes and thinking of me as a liar for claiming otherwise is not what I would call a compliment. What are you doing here anyway? Aren't there enough other rooms in this huge castle worthier of visiting than mine?"

"To be honest, I just passed by when I suddenly heard a cat meowing in this room."

This finally causes me to open my eyes again.

"I must have been imagining things, but when I came in, this beautiful skirt and the blouse were lying about on the floor," she continues. "I couldn't help taking a look... And I have to admit, you are very talented."

This is what I call a compliment, although the fact that she "has to _admit_ it" proves that she doesn't really like what she's saying.

It's still unexpected, however. Elizabeth shouts at me, Lady de Bourgh compliments me; what a weird day!

"I'll leave you alone, then. Keep up the great work!" With these words, Her Ladyship leaves the room, finally giving me time to reflect on everything that has happened today.


	8. No say in the matter

**~ 8 ~ No say in the matter**

The next day I stay away from breakfast. I'm sure that by now Elizabeth and Lady de Bourgh have told Darcy everything about my intolerable behaviour towards them and in general, and I don't need to be present when they discuss my early departure. Staying in my room instead, I get back to work to keep my promise to Mister White. I hope the present for his wife will be finished soon so I can give it to him before returning to Longbourn.

About halfway through the morning, someone knocks on my door. Thinking it's the poltercat, I answer: "What do you want? I _am_ sewing, you don't have to remind me of anything."

"Sorry, I'm not Mister Darcy's great-great-aunt," a male voice says on the other side of the door. "May I come in nevertheless?"

"Oh..." How embarrassing! "Sure."

The door opens and Finley enters the room. "I was sent to check on you because you didn't appear at breakfast. Are you feeling unwell?"

I lower my eyes and continue sewing. "Kind of. Are you bringing me any news? When are the landlords going to send me home in a carriage?"

"Send you home?" Finley looks puzzled. "You're not going anywhere! You have yet to take a voluntary swim in the lake before you're allowed to go home."

I'm about to protest, but then another idea comes to my mind. "Say, Finley, have you found that book for Lady de Bourgh yet?"

He makes a face. "No, but I won't forget to keep searching the library. After what I said to her yesterday by the lake, she now reminds me of it every time she sees me."

"Then let's go to the library and search it together," I suggest, putting my sewing kit away and getting up.

"You want to help me?" he asks, staring at me unbelievingly.

"Sure, why not? If I can prove to my sister that I'm able to spend time with Lady de Bourgh's servant without causing questionable situations, as she calls it, she might allow me to stay longer and then, perhaps we can go swimming together. But only when she's not looking, that is."

"Sounds great," he says on the way out. "So I'm the reason you're in trouble?"

"Not really, it's actually my clumsiness. But when I tried to explain that to Elizabeth yesterday, she didn't want to believe me. Well, what to do... I don't want to go home just yet."

"If it's any comfort to you, I haven't heard her or anyone else talk about sending you home. Although Lady de Bourgh briefly mentioned yesterday's encounter while she was talking to herself in her room," Finley says.

"What did she say?"

"Not much, only that she complimented you on your sewing skills and apparently you didn't like it. If she was still the old Lady de Bourgh, she would have informed the landlords by now. But she's different since her daughter's death."

"But still obnoxious as hell," I say, rolling my eyes. "How come you can listen to her conversations with herself anyway? When I assumed your special relationship to be romantic or sexual, I was just joking, actually. Don't tell me I was right!"

Thinking about it still causes me to frown, and Finley doesn't miss that little gesture. He never misses anything. "Do you find the idea of a rich lady having a relationship of that kind with her servant appalling?"

I think about his question for a moment. "Basically, no. But if that lady is so old she could be her servant's mother... well, that changes things."

"Do you think _you_ could ever fall in love with a servant?" he asks.

"I don't know... I'm strictly forbidden to even look at officers ever since my younger sister eloped with one. My father never said anything about servants, though. I think it depends on the situation. I mean, it's not like you can choose who you will fall in love with, is it? That's why I hate people who think they can tell others who they are allowed to love."

We've almost reached the library by now. Since the shelves are nearly as tall as the room itself, I hope we'll find the book in question where we can still reach it – don't even try imagining the disaster that putting _me_ on a ladder will certainly cause! I'm sure I would surpass anyone's expectations effortlessly.

"That's right. In fact, there are many matters in life you don't really have a say in," Finley says, stopping in front of the door and looking like his spirit has just left his body and gone far, far away.

"Finley? Are you alright?"

He shakes his head and opens the door. "It's nothing. I just thought... well, if I'd had a say in the matter, I wouldn't be here today. I wasn't always a servant, you know. But that's a long story with no happy ending."

He doesn't say anything else about it. As soon as we're in the library, he tells me the name of the book and the author, and since I don't know if the books are arranged in any order in this room, we just start looking for it with no particular idea as to how we're supposed to find it.

What he said before doesn't leave me alone, though, and I can't help asking: "What were you before you became a servant?"

Finley hesitates. It takes him a while, although I can't tell if he's just trying to find the right words or feeling uncomfortable thinking about it, but he eventually says: "The son of one."

I wait for him to go on, but as usual, it doesn't happen, so I ask: "And?"

He hesitates again. "Well, I don't want to bore you with the story of my life. I would have to start way back in the past before I was born..."

"We have all time in the world," I assure him. "By the way, if I thought it was boring, I wouldn't have asked."

"Good point." Dutiful as he is at work, he doesn't stop looking for the book for one second while he starts telling me about his life. "My father was the oldest of three siblings, all of which were servants because there was no other possibility for them to earn money. Since he had the misfortune to end up in a very rich, very mean and demanding family, he had to work much harder than all the others. His comfort was that he worked in the kitchen. You know, my father had always had a knack for cuisine."

"So, at least he could earn money with his hobby," I assume. "Must be great."

"Sure. But as I said, that wasn't all love, peace and harmony, considering the family he was working for. They expected him to be there for them around the clock, not even paying him enough for his services, even though money certainly wasn't one of their problems. He rarely found time for anything else and was already in his late thirties when he finally got married. Believe it or not, but his wife, my mother, was a part of that rich family."

So that's why he asked my opinion on rich women and servants. His parents had a relationship like that and he needed to know whether or not he could tell me that, just in case.

"She was the only friendly and sensible person in that house, but also incredibly shy. Although she visited several balls a month, she was never able to fit into that noble society," he continues. "But her behaviour towards servants was much different. She felt better around them because they were not as haughty as the people her parents wanted her to be with, although by the time she and my father fell in love with each other, her parents had already given up on her because she was thirty years old and still not married. However, do you think they accepted her crush on my father when they found out about it?"

"If you ask me like this, probably not."

"No, not at all! If they'd had it their way, she should have become an old maid rather than marrying a servant. They thought of it as a disgrace to their family, and when my mother insisted on the marriage, they decided not to support her any longer. She was basically kicked out, along with my father. But that was only the beginning of a feud that only ended with my parents' deaths."

"Your parents are dead?"

Finley nods, barely visibly. "They were not completely destitute. They moved in with my father's sister who had saved a lot of money since she wanted to open her own business, even though she wasn't sure what kind of business it would be. Then my father had an idea. As I told you before, he was an excellent cook, and even better at baking. They decided to open a bakery that soon became a family business. My aunt, my uncle, their spouses and, as soon as they were old enough, also their children all helped where they could. By the time I was born, the bakery had just opened and no one had to work as a servant anymore. When I was old enough to become a part of it, it had acquired so many customers that my family didn't have any more financial worries."

"Sounds like you were living in a fairytale," I remark. "But I suppose it didn't stay like this."

"Yeah, you can say that again. After roughly seventeen years of good fortune, fate apparently decided that we'd had more than our share of it. My aunt's family was the first one it caught up with. They were on the way to visit her husband's parents when their carriage was stopped by a bunch of robbers. No one wanted to tell me what exactly had happened to them, but I never saw them again. Few months later, my uncle and his family, along with many other unlucky citizens, were killed by a nasty epidemic."

"Oh God..." I pause for a moment to stomach this horrible news.

"But although I missed my aunt and uncle and my cousins very much, my parents and I could have lived on if it weren't for my mother's despicable jealous family." He is getting angry now. "After all, we still had the bakery... till one night, it was set on fire."

And I thought it couldn't get any worse. "Your mother's family did that?"

"I'm sure if I visited her brother in jail, he would still deny it," Finley says, shrugging. "But he was spotted around the bakery by several of our customers that night. And everybody knew how much he hated my father. Well, at least that lucky bastard got what he wanted before he was imprisoned. My father was still in the bakery when it burned to the ground."

"What happened to your mother?" I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer.

"With her husband and the bakery gone and no family to support her, there was not much she could do. Thankfully, she found a new job as a cook at the house of a kind old lady who had been a regular customer of our bakery when it was still there. But in the end, all those losses she had suffered were too much for her to cope with, and she was taken to the asylum after a serious mental breakdown. You probably know how patients are treated at the asylum, so I suppose you can imagine the rest of the story. She didn't hang on for long."

I'm still standing there, watching him, no longer looking for Lady de Bourgh's book. I can't believe what he's telling me. But why should he lie?

"I was barely nineteen when she died and I became the old lady's cook for a short period of time. When she felt her own end was near, she wanted to make sure I was in good hands, so she got in touch with her friend, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was in need of a new servant at the time. She had just dismissed her former servant, Mrs Jenkinson, for neglecting her permanent duty of looking after Her Ladyship's sickly daughter, and I became her successor."

"So you were responsible for the well-being of Miss Anne de Bourgh?"

"Until she died, yes."

"Is this the reason for your special relationship with her mother?"

"There's more to that, actually," he admits. "You know, I kind of... well, followed in my father's footsteps with Anne."

"You mean you were in love with her?"

"It was her idea, basically. She fell in love with me first. One day I started to love her back. But Lady Catherine didn't like it." It seems like Finley has arrived at the last shelf now while I still haven't really touched anything. "Like all the rich ladies who have never felt this way for anyone below their social standing, she thought of it as something bad, shameful, embarrassing. From the moment she knew about us, she didn't allow me to see her daughter anymore. One week and few days later, Anne's health declined and she died."

That can't be! How can fate be so cruel to someone? After losing his whole family, was it really necessary to also take the girl he loved away from him? I feel like I'm the luckiest person on Earth all of a sudden, just because I've never lost anyone close to me. Just a few minutes ago, having a family and not missing anyone seemed like the most natural thing in life.

I guess if it wasn't for the few manners I've learned, I would probably have jumped at Finley and cuddled him. Knowing my luck, however, this would have been the moment for Elizabeth to enter the room and think I was molesting Lady de Bourgh's servant again.

"Lady de Bourgh hasn't been the same ever since," he continues. "She blames herself for not granting Anne her last wish, to be with me. That's why she's spending much of her time here nowadays. Now that she doesn't have a daughter anymore, she tries her best to stay in touch with her remaining family. And I've become a part of that family, it seems. It doesn't bother her anymore that your sister is not the wife she would have wished for her nephew to marry. She views many things in a different light now, and class distinctions no longer matter to her. She may still seem proud and arrogant, even rude sometimes, but she only does that to keep up her façade. No one is allowed to see the vulnerable woman behind that, so please don't be too harsh on her."

Talking about façades... When Finley apparently finds what he's been looking for, saying "Hey, I think this is it!" and trying to pull the book out of the shelf, something odd happens; the book can't be removed, but the shelf starts moving.

Startled, Finley steps back while the lower part of the tall shelf turns ninety degrees, revealing a short, dark passage behind it.

I'm just as surprised as he is. "What the hell is this?"

But Finley is speechless. "Maybe... um... the entrance to the underworld?"

A secret hidden passage within the walls of Pemberley. Who would have expected that? Not me, for sure.


	9. Behind the shelf

**~ 9 ~ Behind the shelf**

Oh dear! Mary will be amazed when I tell her this... or maybe not. Mary's reactions to things I find interesting are generally hard to guess. But I _am_ amazed, and I'm not the only one.

"I don't think we were supposed to see that, do you?" he asks, giving me one of his cheeky smirks again.

"Probably not," I agree.

"So... the best thing to do would be to close this secret door again and pretend not to know about it," he suggests.

"Probably yes," I agree, already walking towards the hidden passage that is just too interesting to be ignored. "On the other hand, though... who says the landlords even _know_ about this?"

On the inside, it's more like a small square room than a passage, and there's a door on the other side.

"Locked," I realise trying to open it. "Of course."

But the lock looks... unusual, to say the least. It's huge and made of iron, nothing too strange about that, but for some reason it's coloured like a rainbow.

"I've seen something like this before," Finley says. "In Mister Darcy's office, I believe. It caught my attention the last time I was cleaning the furniture..."

"Why would Darcy need a coloured lock in his office?" I ask.

"It was not a lock. It was a key. But it had the same colours as this lock... maybe it's not a coincidence."

I look at him with wide eyes. "So you think whatever is behind this door belongs to Darcy?" Further elaborating on this in my thoughts, I come to the conclusion that it might be another reason for the current tension between my sister and her husband. What if he's keeping something from her, but she knows about it?

But Finley has a different idea. "Not necessarily. It was lying about in a cabinet... odd place to keep a key, don't you think? If you ask me, Darcy doesn't even know what it's for and thinks it's just decoration. So if we could just get our hands on it..."

We look at each other for a minute.

"Do you think Darcy will notice it's gone?" I ask after a while.

He shrugs.

"Meow!"

That came from behind the door. And we both heard it.

"Well, if Lady Hamilton thinks we should try it, then I guess we should," Finley says.

"Okay, but let's first get out of here before anyone sees us," I suggest.

Back outside, when he touches the book again, the shelf immediately flips back to its original position. Since I have no idea where Mister Darcy's office is, I tell Finley to lead me to it. The door is open and we can hear Lady de Bourgh's voice from metres away when we arrive.

"I'm not saying this on a whim, I'm serious!" she answers to whatever has been said in the room before.

It's Darcy's voice that replies. "How can you expect me to take you seriously? The truth is, you've been doing and saying _a lot_ on a whim lately."

"But I've seen what this girl is capable of! And if you don't believe me, go and see for yourself. The clothes she sews are wonderful!"

"Is she talking about you?" Finley asks me under his breath.

"Seems like it," I whisper back, although I can't actually believe what I'm hearing.

"She says the fabric was expensive," Lady de Bourgh continues. "And you have more than enough money, my dear. You should give her some so she can buy her fabric without making deals with the merchants."

"And why should I do that?" Darcy demands.

"Don't make such a fuss, she's your wife's sister! A sister with a talent, so we should do what we can to support that talent or else it might be lost."

Yes, they're definitely talking about me.

"Okay," Finley says while the two in Darcy's office continue arguing. "I'll get us a candlestick, you go in there and get the key."

"What? Wait!" I say when he's about to go. "How am I supposed to do that? You're a servant. Can't you just pretend to be cleaning the furniture and snatch the key while no one's looking?"

"I already cleaned the furniture a few days ago," he reminds me. "Wouldn't it look suspicious if I did it again now? By the way, Lady de Bourgh is in there and she still wants me to get that book. I'll have to find a way to disguise the one in the library somehow before she sends someone else."

"Good point," I sigh. "Okay, then..."

"What are you two up to again?"

Spinning round in shock, I see Elizabeth coming our way.

"Nothing!" I quickly reply. "We were just..."

"Sorry, it's my fault," Finley interrupts. "I was told to clean some instruments in the music room, but I don't know where that room is, so I asked Miss Catherine for the way."

Coming to a stop in front of us, Elizabeth eyes him warily. "This is the second time you stay here with Lady de Bourgh, and you still don't know where the music room is?"

"Sorry," he apologises. "But so far it was always Mrs Reynolds who took care of the instruments. She would still be doing it if she hadn't been so... distracted lately."

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. "Yes, I know what you mean. I can't explain what's wrong with her these days... Okay, come with me, I'll show you the way," she offers before turning to me. "And you, young lady, I hope you're not getting up to any nonsense today."

"I hope you're not getting up to any nonsense today," I repeat, aping my sister's tone when she's out of sight. "Honestly, as if I had nothing better to do than getting on her nerves."

But since I'm up to no good today, Elizabeth's sorrows might be justified for once.

Now, how am I going to do that? I can't just break in on Lady de Bourgh and Mister Darcy's conversation, take the key out of the cabinet and leave. Not without raising questions, at least. I've never been in that office before, so I don't even know which cabinet it is. I've never had a reason to speak to Darcy either, so how am I going to explain that I want to see him now?

Of course, I could also wait until he leaves the room. However, Elizabeth told me on the way to the market that he likes to spend a lot of time in his office, so that might not be a good idea.

But then something else comes to my mind. Why didn't I hit on that idea before? My clumsiness has always caused me trouble up until now, but this time it might come in handy.

Not far from the door is a big vase that is filled with water and flowers. It stands on the ground, is about half as tall as me, and looks sturdy enough to survive being knocked over. I still don't want to risk breaking it, though, so I carefully turn it over, spilling the water and the flowers all over the floor. When the preparations for my intentional accident are done, I throw myself to the ground with a yelp, trying to make as much noise as possible and actually hurting my knee on the way down. But it's bearable.

Things work out as I intended them to. Darcy and Lady de Bourgh hurry out of the office to see what caused the noise and look startled when they see me in a puddle of water on the floor, next to the overturned vase.

"Goodness! What happened to you?" Lady de Bourgh exclaims as she hurries in my direction, closely followed by Darcy.

"I'm so sorry!" I say, trying to sound sincere, but not too much since I'm supposed to feel dizzy from the fall. "I was lost in thought and then I crashed into this thing... But I'm fine, I guess. I just feel a little..." Instead of saying the word, I rest my forehead on my hand as if it hurt.

"I'll take care of her," Darcy says to Lady de Bourgh. "You go and find a servant to clean up this mess."

While she hurries away, he helps me get on my feet and leads me to his office.

"There's a sofa in the office. You should lie down a bit."

"Thank you," I say, and when we're finally in the office: "I think I'm going to be fine. Could you get me some water? I'm sure that will help."

Being the gentleman he is, Darcy can't refuse, and as soon as he's out of the room, I suddenly get well again and start searching the cabinets. It doesn't take me long to find the key. It seems to be the only object of its kind in the office, and it has exactly the same colours as the lock in the library.

I have long since found what I came for by the time Darcy returns, but I keep up the play for another five minutes before I can leave without causing suspicion. Finley is already awaiting me in the library when I get there, and he brought a candlestick as he promised.

"Ready for a little adventure?" he asks.

"Let's do it!" I say, and with that, we open the door to the secret passage once again.

We soon find out how to close the door from inside; there's a switch sticking out of the shelf's wooden back side that returns the unusual revolving door to its common position. That's for the best because we can't be sure the library will remain empty for the rest of the day, especially since it's still Elizabeth's favourite room.

Once the secret door is closed, there's no way of seeing whether or not the coast is clear, so getting out again might be a problem. But one that we'll worry about when the time has come. For now we have candles to illuminate the dark passage and the key that, as we expected, fits perfectly in the lock.

On the other side of the no longer locked door there's a winding staircase leading downstairs.

"The dark secrets of Pemberley are about to be revealed," Finley says slowly in a deep voice that gives me the creeps. "I hope you've brought some garlic, holy water and a crucifix."

"No. Why?"

"No? Then get ready to run back upstairs at the sight of any coffins. We're obviously not prepared to meet vampires."

"Stop it!"

Fortunately, there aren't any coffins. Lighting the candles on the wall with his own candlestick, Finley reveals a small room that might have been a wine cellar before it was changed into something else. Huge paintings of animals lean on the wall. Apart from being very dusty, they seem to be in a good condition, much unlike everything else in the room. There are a few shelves that might fall apart if you look at them too intensely, and parts of their bright wooden surface are pitch-black as if they'd been exposed to fire sometime in the past.

"Do you remember what Mister Darcy told us about his great-great-aunt?" Finley suddenly asks. "He said she had a cellar room where she kept everything important for her work."

"You think this might be the room?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Look at the furniture. Or the ceiling."

Now that he mentions it... There's a big black stain on the ceiling which I thought was a shadow, but looking at it closely, it seems to be the same phenomenon as on the shelves.

"You're right. The room was eventually set on fire." Approaching one of the animal paintings, I add: "And these must be the paintings Lady Hamilton kept in her room... the room where I reside at the moment."

"Well, the question is..." Finley hesitates for a moment. "Why does this room have to be hidden behind a moving shelf in the library? There's nothing... _terrible_ here."

"Sounds like you're gravely disappointed," I remark with a smile.

"To be honest, I am," he admits. "I was expecting to unveil some dark family secret... or perhaps some vampires. And what do we find instead? A few dusty paintings and burnt shelves."

"Seems like it."

"Boring!"

But I find it anything but boring. Looking around some more, I come across another painting, bigger than the others and the only one I've found so far that doesn't show an animal. It shows a middle-aged woman instead, reddish brown curls with barely visible grey strands surrounding her heart-shaped face. Her smiling red lips form a stark contrast to her piercing light blue eyes that look rather worried, but I find her pretty nonetheless.

"Look! Do you think this is Lady Catherine Hamilton?"

Finley wrinkles his forehead at the sight of the painting. "Not very likely. According to Mister Darcy, his great-great-aunt was rather ugly, whereas this woman is quite pretty."

"He didn't call her ugly. He merely said she was not a beauty of nature," I correct him. "But beauty is in the eye of the beholder anyway."

"Well, now that you mention it..." He looks at the painting once again. "He also said that the cat that later appeared reminded everyone of Lady Hamilton because of its blue eyes and reddish brown fur. If this lady turned into a cat, she would probably look like that too."

The longer I look at Lady Hamilton's shy smile, the sadder it makes me. Why is this painting down here in a room that is hidden behind a shelf, getting more and more dusty between old animal paintings and burnt furniture? Why is it not hanging on a wall in one of the countless rooms and corridors of the castle? Is this woman no longer allowed to be a part of her own family just because of some unusual choices she made in life?

I don't have to rack my brain about this to find the answer within my own family. After all, the same thing happened to Lydia – she didn't play by the rules, and now most of the family hates her. And the rules must have been much more severe by the time Lady Hamilton was alive.

"It must have been Mister Darcy's great-grandmother," I think aloud. "She removed all the paintings of Lady Hamilton and installed a secret door mechanism to hide them behind, however she did that. I guess burning her sister's life's work was not enough, she wanted to completely erase all memories of her."

"Hateful woman!" Finley comments. "I'd never do anything like that to my siblings if I had any, no matter what they've done."

"Me neither," I agree, thinking of Lydia once again.

If this small room wasn't as stuffed as it is, we would already be out of here again by now. But behind the shelves and paintings are other shelves and paintings, it's like a little museum down here. Another painting without animals shows two women, one of them being the middle-aged woman we assume to be Lady Hamilton, the other having the same blue eyes, but much darker hair, and a facial expression as if she had a pile of shit under her nose.

"This must be the evil sister," Finley concludes, and I agree with a nod. "But hey, look at that!" He points at yet another painting of Lady Hamilton that shows not only her face, but a lot of her dress as well. A very beautiful dress. "You think you'd be able to sew something like this?"

"No way! Look at all these colours, and the pattern seems to be rather complicated. I don't think I'm that skilled."

"You should try it!" Finley insists. "Every artist grows with challenges like this."

"But the fabric looks rather expensive as well," I point out. "Think about how much money would be lost if I screwed up."

"You must have faith in yourself! Or, if you need some kind of motivation, do it for me!"

Time to raise an eyebrow. "Finley, if you want new clothes, I'd strongly advise you to go with a suit or anything else with pants. I wouldn't mind you running around in a fancy dress, but don't expect everyone to be as tolerant..."

"No! I didn't mean..." He looks at me like he thinks I'm serious, but when he realises I'm not, we both burst out laughing.

Only for a while, though, because I can suddenly hear a voice nearby.

"Ssssh!"

It's the low voice of a female servant. Mrs Reynolds, I believe, but it's very hard to understand. "I don't know where she is. I haven't seen her today."

"Could you keep looking?" That's Elizabeth now. "I need to discuss something with her."

"Of course."

We remain silent, not even moving. Then, after a while, I whisper: "So... my sister is looking for me. But you know what? I'm not going back upstairs just yet."

"You're not?"

"No. There's still a lot to discover here," I explain, still whispering. "And I'm sure she can do without me for a while. From now on, this will be my secret place. Whenever the others annoy me, I'll come here and have them look for me."

"Don't you think that's a little childish?"

"They think of me as a little child anyway, so I might as well take advantage of that. And you... I will have to rely on you to keep this secret to yourself!"

Finley nods eagerly. "Count on it! After all, this is now my secret place too."

I suppose I can agree to that.


	10. Business plans

**~ 10 ~ Business plans**

We're on the way to Lady de Bourgh. In less than five minutes, she will finally have the book she wants and then she will be pleased. She's in the drawing room where Mister Darcy told us the story of his great-great-aunt.

"Where have you been for so long?" she greets us as we enter.

"Sorry, I couldn't find the book earlier," Finley replies, which is not even a lie.

We were thinking about how to explain to her that the book could not be removed from the library, when just a few minutes ago, we found another copy of it in one of the shelves in our new secret place. After all I've seen and suspected down there, I suppose it was Lady Hamilton's favourite book, which would explain why her sister wanted it to be hidden in the cellar along with everything else. After that she made a dummy of the book and placed it on the rotating shelf as a switch.

"Do you have any other task for me right now?" Finley asks politely.

As a result, Lady de Bourgh proves that she can actually smile. "Not if it takes you another three days to accomplish it. You may as well go back to playing hide-and-seek with your new friend."

The way she says it makes me raise an eyebrow.

"But before that, I'd like to have a word with her," she adds.

Oh no... The last time someone requested to "have a word" with me, it was Elizabeth, and it didn't end well. Judging by the way he winks at me when he leaves the room, Finley doesn't seem to take this seriously, but then again, he also didn't expect my sister to scold me after our meeting by the lake.

She's still smiling when we're alone, but that doesn't convince me to let my guard down. Quite to the contrary, actually. Lady de Bourgh is scary when upset, but even more so when she smiles.

"I talked to my nephew this morning," she informs me, and now I think I know what this might be about. "It took some persuasion, but he agreed to support you in your hobby."

"You mean my sewing?"

"It's the only one of your hobbies I know of," she says, shrugging. "So yes, that's what I mean. I basically told him what you told me; that you had to make a deal with the merchant because you couldn't afford to pay the full purchase price for the fabric you needed. Since he has much more money than he will ever need, I told him to sponsor you a bit. And you can probably imagine how determined I can be."

Indeed, I can imagine that very well.

"So from now on, as long as you don't betray his confidence by spending his money on anything silly, you can have as much of it as you wish," she continues.

I'm dumbfounded for almost a minute before I can finally reply. "But... why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?"

Shrugging once again, Lady de Bourgh looks away and starts gazing into space. "My family's past has shown in a rather unpleasant way what might happen if we don't appreciate the talent of creative people. I don't want to be like my grandmother, and I don't want you to end up like her sister."

She seems too nice, though, and so does Mister Darcy. Why is everyone so nice all of a sudden? "What's the catch?" I want to know.

Her eyes are on me again, one eyebrow raised, when she asks: "Why so distrustful? There is no catch. The only thing is that, as I already mentioned, you are expected to spend the money on worthwhile things, like fabric for the clothes you sew. If you're diligent, you might even sell some of them."

I still can't believe what I'm hearing. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of all people, is just giving me business ideas.

"That's very kind of you, thank you," I manage to say, feeling ashamed for the rude way I treated her just yesterday when she asked me about the clothes in my room. But honestly, who would have known that _this_ was going to happen?

"One might not expect it, but my servant Finley is quite talented at sewing too," she says. And she's right about it; he never mentioned that and I didn't expect it either. "I will give him a few more days off so he can help you. Seeing as you two seem to get on well with each other, I don't think either of you will mind."

"Thanks again."

She nods to me and then opens her book. "That's all I wanted to say. I'm not going to hold you up any longer."

Leaving her to her book, I walk out of the room, but the moment the door is closed behind me, I start running and skipping. I have a hobby, the talent for it, and money to spend for everything I need, plus the knowledge that Lady de Bourgh is not such a mean old witch after all! Can this day still get any better?

Not even that stupid frog figurine in the rose garden can ruin my good mood today when I trip over it and fly straight into a big shrub. After picking the thorns out of my arms, I return to my room to finish the hood I started, and when I present it to Mister White at the market the next day, he's more than just slightly impressed.

"This is beautiful!" he says, admiring what I made of the fabric he sold me for half of its original price. "I'm sure my wife will love it. If you hadn't made it for her, maybe I would even wear it myself."

We both laugh at his comment.

"Well then, does that mean I have proven myself a worthy customer of your high quality fabrics?" I ask afterwards, already having something else in mind that I'm planning to sew with his fabrics.

"Oh, sure! My assortment is all yours. Pick whatever you like, and perhaps we can make another deal."

"Thanks, but that won't be necessary this time," I explain, telling him briefly that I now have enough money to pay the full price for everything thanks to the support of my family at Pemberley.

Mister White looks somewhat sad afterwards. "So no more deals from now on?"

"As I said, I guess it's no longer necessary. And that's for the best, don't you think? You won't have to wait and I won't have to keep promises anymore."

"What if I _want_ to wait?" he asks, causing me to give him an amused look when he goes on: "Look, I'm a merchant. I'm used to making deals. The last time you bought my fabric, you offered me to use whatever was left of it to make a hood for my wife. So you did. But you also said you could sew a scarf for me."

"Correct," I agree, beginning to have a hunch where this is going.

"How about another deal? I sell you this for half the original price again," he points at the fabric I'm about to buy, "and you once again use the remainder of it to sew something for me, a scarf this time."

Feeling flattered, but keeping Lady de Bourgh's idea in mind, I make him a different offer. "I might as well pay the full price, but sew a scarf for you nevertheless, and if you want it, you can pay me whatever you think is appropriate."

"Alright, I like the sound of that too," he says, shaking my hand. "If you keep making deals like this with other people too, you might become a pretty successful merchant yourself someday."

"That's the point," I tell him, and he lets me pay for the fabric.

He isn't disappointed when I come back two days later to buy new fabric as well as to show him the scarf. In fact, he likes it so much he buys it for a lot more than I'd ever have asked for it.

"That's way too much," I say, but he insists.

In the end he pays me almost as much for the scarf as I paid him for the fabric, and I figure that if I also sold the pair of gloves I made, my income would definitely be a lot higher than my expenses. He asks for another deal too, and I can't refuse him. It seems like Mister White, the merchant, has become my new best friend. Or one of them, at least.

When I get home after that, a letter from Mary is waiting for me; the answer to the one I sent her a couple of days ago. She tells me that our parents are in good health and apparently none of them is missing me so far, Maria Lucas is now called Maria Harrington and I didn't miss anything special by not appearing at her wedding, and I shall give Elizabeth everyone's regards.

Seems like not much has changed since my departure. For me, however, something _has_ changed, and I quickly return to my room to answer the letter, telling Mary as much as I know about Lady Hamilton, the legend of her transforming into a cat and the secret cellar room behind the shelf before getting to the part about me, not sure if she's going to believe any of it.

"Of course I don't know if this is all true, but I'm sure it was Mister Darcy's great-grandmother who installed the secret door in the library. Unless she had help with that, I really wonder why she didn't support her sister's unusual lifestyle instead of criticising it. She could have become an engineer of some sort while her sister was a veterinary. But no, she chose to be a good housewife instead, like most women do. Don't get me wrong, I want to be a good housewife too, but... ugh, I'm afraid I would go crazy if that was the only purpose in my life.

And apparently, it isn't anyway. Mary, you won't believe what happened! There's a merchant at the market place, not far from here, who is very fond of the clothes and accessories I sew. He asks for a deal with me every time I go there! Now he wants me to create a rather complicated handbag for his wife, but I'm sure I'll be able to do so if given enough time. In fact, I'm quite happy about the challenge. And buying fabric shouldn't be a big issue anymore, now that Lady de Bourgh (yes, that Lady de Bourgh) has convinced Mister Darcy to give me money for it whenever I need it. Isn't that great?

Unfortunately, not everything looks bright at the moment, and Mister Darcy doesn't make everyone as happy as me. Lizzie, for example. To be honest, I don't even know if I'm allowed to tell you this... probably not. But Jane knows it too, of course, and we're sisters, after all. I trust you not to say a word to our parents, though. They shouldn't be worried.

I always assumed Lizzie and Mister Darcy were the perfect couple, but apparently they're not. She wants to have children, he doesn't, and because of that she's been rather erratic lately. I'm still a little mad at her because of an argument we had, but it makes me unhappy to see her that way, and since I'm known to cause problems rather than solve them, I'm going to ask you: Can you think of anything I could say or do to make her feel better?

Yours, Kitty"

I make sure the letter leaves Pemberley as soon as I'm done writing it, and it doesn't take Mary long to answer.

"Dear Kitty,

I don't know what to make of your story about that poltergeist, but it makes me glad that you're enjoying your time at Pemberley. There's one thing in particular about your latest letter that caught my attention: You said you would go crazy if being a good housewife was your only purpose in life. The last time we talked about a similar topic, you were still desperate to find a good man, marry him and be his housewife because you didn't know what else to do with yourself. You seem to have changed your mind on the subject, and I think we can classify that as good news.

This part of her letter makes me smile, but – I should have guessed so before – Mary wouldn't be Mary if she didn't address the other topic, Elizabeth's marital problems, in a way that is not really helpful. My sister knows as little about marriage as I do, probably even less, and so she quotes a few passages from her favourite romance novels that deal with the subject.

I merely skim those passages and after that, I'm just as wise as before. At the end of the letter, she asks me to keep her up to date about my business with Mister White and my new old hobby. I write to her as soon as possible.

"Dear Mary,

I visit the market place almost every day now, and today I finally got to know Mister White's wife – lovely woman! She was wearing the hood and the handbag I'd made for her.

But that's not the only news. I don't know if Mister White told them or if they have taken notice of me all by themselves, but during the last few days, more and more merchants have been requesting similar deals with me. You know, I'm planning to stitch a beautiful picture for Elizabeth to cheer her up a bit, and when I bought the thread from an old woman, she asked me to stitch a specific picture for her as well, telling me that even though she sells everything one needs to stitch, she can't stitch herself.

A few minutes later, another woman asked my advice on what she was wearing. She couldn't find a coat to go with her dress, and when I told her what kind of colours I thought would be fitting, she asked me to sew a coat for her, offering some money in return...

I could go on, but I don't want to bore you. Anyway, I have a lot to do with all those requests at the moment, and I consider myself lucky that Lady de Bourgh allowed Finley to help me. You remember him, right? The cheeky servant I told you about in my last letter. We're friends now. Whenever I'm fed up with all the sewing and he has nothing else to do, we quickly find a way to kill time together.

Yesterday we lent some of Pemberley's horses to ride out, but I fell off Camilla's back seven times within an hour. The day before, we went fishing on a small lake not far from the castle, but instead of me pulling the fish out of the water, the fish pulled me into the water. It was so embarrassing! But then again, Finley tends to laugh at me anyway, no matter if I do something right or wrong. He's always laughing, grinning, or at least smiling. It can drive you crazy after a while! But I'm not complaining. It's not like I don't like the way he smiles.

Anyway, I have to get back to work now. The sooner I manage to finish the picture for Lizzie, the better. You should see it, it's such a beautiful scene! You would call it cheesy, but I find it romantic: A bride and a groom holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, a sunset in the background. There's a writing above their heads that says: "In good times as in bad." If I use different colours and change their hair styles a little while I'm stitching the picture, I might be able to make them look like our sister and Mister Darcy. What do you think?"

"Dear Kitty,

I'm sure your popularity at the market place is not a coincidence. You mentioned the possibility of Mister White having told the others about your talent, and that's probably what happened. This doesn't make it any worse, however. You are doing a good thing and you should stick to it.

You're right about the picture of the bride and the groom, I find it cheesy, indeed. But reminding a quarrelling couple of the promise they made to each other when they got married is probably one of the best ways of reconciling them. Just make sure not to get all worked up about it - after all, it is still their problem, not yours, and while your benevolent attempts to help them certainly speak for you, in the end it's up to them to fix their marriage.

As for Finley, I'm not being funny or anything, but the way you describe his smile makes you seem like you're madly in love with him. Considering our mother's attitude, however, I'm sure she'd rather have you marry a servant than end up as a spinster.

I wish you luck with all of your projects, and as always, keep me up to date!

Yours, Mary"


	11. The tree on the hill

**~ 11 ~ ****The tree on the hill**

"And... done."

With the last stitch, the picture of the bride and her groom is finished. It took me longer than a piece of needlework like this usually does, but I had to be creative by deviating from the original pattern and changing the picture to make the couple look like Elizabeth and Darcy. It wouldn't have made half as much sense otherwise, but I think it was worth the effort.

Especially the sunset has turned out nicely. Finley and I are sitting on a hill, not far from the castle, leaning against a tree and watching the real sun disappear behind the far mountains. It's warm for an autumn day.

"I have to agree with your sister Mary," Finley says, taking the little masterpiece out of my hands to look at it closely. "It _is_ a little cheesy, especially the writing here... But I'm sure it will do the trick."

"I wish I could believe that," I sigh. "If it was so easy to save a marriage, there would be no unhappily married people on Earth. But it's like Mary said: In the end, they'll have to solve their problems themselves. I can only try to help. It's the least thing I can do in return for their kindness to me."

"I take it you and your sister are getting on well again?"

"How do you figure?"

"You haven't been to our secret place for a week now."

Right, the cellar room behind the shelf... I've almost forgotten about that. But I have been very busy for the last two weeks anyway.

Wait, did I say "two weeks"? It didn't even seem that long.

"No, you're right, I haven't had a reason to hide there lately," I say. "But oh well, our room will still be there tomorrow."

"But I may not," he says.

"What do you mean, you may not?" I ask, turning to him.

Finley shrugs. "Just like you, I'm only here on visit, and I had already been here for quite some time when you arrived. Now the time has come, Lady de Bourgh wants to return to Rosings within the next few days, and since I'm her servant, she'll take me with her when she does."

This truly takes me by surprise. Of course he has a point – we're here on visit. But just like our hiding place behind the shelf, this little detail has been absent from my awareness for way too long. This is Pemberley, and no, I don't live here. Neither does he.

"But... what does that mean for us? I mean, you were such a great help for me with all those requests from the merchants. How am I going to go on without you?"

"Perhaps our old Mrs Reynolds will be allowed to help you," Finley suggests.

"But our old Mrs Reynolds is crazy, everyone knows that." He starts laughing, but I remain serious. "Besides, I can't ask my sister and Mister Darcy to spare a servant. They're already doing so much for me. I'm so glad I don't have to repay Darcy what he gives me, I wouldn't know where to take the money from."

"Your income... what else?" Finley answers as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Putting one arm around me, he lifts the other one to point at some place in the distance. "See those people over there?"

Following the direction of his index finger, I see a narrow pathway in the shadow of the mountain where the sun is setting. A carriage is moving along.

"In the near future, that gentleman and the two ladies will be wearing _your_ clothes. And judging by what they're wearing right now, I'm sure they won't hesitate to buy them from you for whatever price you may ask," he casually explains, putting more trust in my abilities than I ever will. "Just think of everything you've accomplished: Your room is full of clothes you made for the people at the market place. For now, your customers are merchants, people who can't give you a lot. But that will change, and when it does, you will look back at the times when you were worried, just like now, and laugh at them."

"But..."

"No 'but'. I know most people tend to say 'but' in a situation like this, but there's no reason," he interrupts me. "See, I will be a servant forever. It's just the way life goes, some people have a choice, others don't. You were not born into a lower class like I was, so you should take the chance and make the best of your life. And don't think you need me or anyone else to do that. All you need is a little more self-confidence. It's not impossible."

I guess he's right.

"But I'll miss you anyway," I admit, leaning on his shoulder.

"Oh, come on! Going back to Rosings doesn't mean going to hell. As soon as you are rich, you can have your own carriage and visit me any time you want. But let's be honest, I'm not even that helpful when it comes to the actual work, right?"

And he's right again. Finley is not as good at sewing as Lady de Bourgh thinks he is. Every time we worked together gave me a chance to see _his_ clumsy side. While he's not colour-blind and basically knows how to hold a needle, he also knows how to hurt himself with it in subtle, but effective ways, reminding me a lot of my own first attempts to create something useful with my sewing kit.

In the end, he didn't really help me by actually sewing stuff, but by being there and encouraging me with his indomitable optimism. This situation is no different.

"Just promise me one thing," he says, and my eyes open. I didn't even realise I closed them at some point.

"What?"

"Promise me that even if you become a famous dressmaker, which I have no doubt you will, you won't forget about me completely."

"Of course not!" I assure him. "Don't be silly."

The sun is no longer in sight now. The only clue that it was there before, above the mountain, is the orange glow it has left behind on the sky. The shadows are getting longer by the minute until a sudden cold breeze disturbs the peaceful atmosphere, making me shiver and telling me it's time to get back inside.

"We should go now. Before the others get worried," Finley suggests, as if he had read my mind.

So we slowly get up and walk down to the castle while the sun is going down faster and faster behind the mountain. It's twilight by the time we reach the castle.

"So, are you going to give your sister the present today?" Finley asks at the doorstep, causing me to facepalm. "What's wrong?"

"I forgot the thing up there by the tree," I reply, only now realising I'm not holding it in my hands anymore. "I'll go back for it."

Finley offers to go in my place, but I convince him that there's probably some work waiting for him in the kitchen or somewhere else. Considering that he just spent the whole evening with me again, I'm probably right. So I turn around and walk up the hill as fast as I can, racing against the cold and the darkness as night falls, knowing that such a silly thing can only happen to people like me. I'm sure my sister will be pleased with my little present, whether it can save her marriage or not, but not if I lose it before I can give it to her.

The tree proves how a romantic place in the evening sun can turn eerie at night, looking ghostly in the pale white light the moon is now casting on it. Perhaps taking a candle with me wouldn't have been a bad idea, but the wind would probably have blown it out in the meantime. Just where the hell did I put the bloody thing? Finley and I were sitting here on the grass, it's not like I could have lost it anywhere else, or could I?

There's another sudden cold breeze, similar to, but notably stronger than the one I felt before, when it was still bright enough to not get scared of a harmless natural phenomenon like this. The tree's branches and the remaining leafs that have not yet fallen victim to the cold season start to rustle in response, which, in combination with the weird shadows this creates and the whistling of the wind somewhere not far from here, freaks me out. If only I had taken Finley with me!

Then I hear it. That other sound. I can't place it at first, since it seems to slowly emerge from the combination of the more natural sounds. Finally realising what it is after a while, I'm suddenly sure there are no thieves around that could steal what I'm looking for, so I might as well come back tomorrow...

"Be careful!"

The low voice is nothing but a whisper, barely setting itself apart from the whistling of the wind. And it repeats what it just said to me: "Be careful!"

Whether this is really happening or being exposed to the forces of nature by night just causes me to lose my sanity, I don't know. But with all Pemberley has in store – rooms hidden within rooms and a poltergeist that sounds like a cat – I shouldn't be too surprised if the first option was true. It's just that... well, all the other things that have happened to me so far weren't so damn creepy.

Turning around – only reflexively, of course, because I'm perfectly aware of the fact that who or whatever is talking to me will not be visible to my eyes – I ask: "What's going on? Why should I be careful?"

"Something is not right," seems to be the only answer I get, and only after listening to the confusing sounds of the environment for another minute.

Spotting my gift for Elizabeth takes a load off my mind. Without a second thought, I grab it and start running towards the castle at full speed, never looking back. But the creepy voice follows me to the doorstep, never ceasing to whisper warnings into my ears, and it only ends when I slam the door shut behind me.

Elizabeth happens to be in the foyer. "Kitty, what's wrong! Are you feeling unwell?" she asks on seeing me. "You look pale! Like you've seen a ghost..."

"No..." I reply hesitantly, quickly hiding my present behind my back. I'll give it to her tomorrow, when I'm in a better constitution. "But I might have heard one..."


End file.
